


Disengagement

by claro



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Break Up, Deception, Hurt, Lies, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Unrequited Love, trust me it'll be fine in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-06-04 06:36:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 44
Words: 38,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6645397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claro/pseuds/claro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deception, babies, heartbreak, loss, friendship and angst. As usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Remember to check me out at [ClaireWritesWords](www.clairewriteswords.wordpress.com)
> 
> The lovely Lydia commissioned some art work from [tiniestjohn and it's sooo adorable and wonderful I want to share it. Check it out!!!!](http://tiniestjohn.tumblr.com)
> 
> and 
> 
> xx

Mycroft woke with the comforting warmth of Greg Lestrade curled around him. The policeman was pressing sleepy kisses against Mycroft's shoulder, his hand resting on Mycroft's chest. He hummed against Mycroft's skin when he realised that the other man was awake.

'Morning,' he murmured, shifting slightly so he had more access to Mycroft's body.

'Gregory,' Mycroft's voice was halfway between a sigh and a warning as Greg kissed his way down Mycroft's chest and disappeared under the covers, a second later his mouth closed around Mycroft, who completely lost interest in any protest he might have had.

#

Mycroft had never predicted Greg Lestrade. He had never expected to have a space in his life that only the policeman could fill. He had lived his life in a neatly ordered way, each day exactly as he had planned, a master of his own universe. And then Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade had stormed into his office cursing the air blue and crowding into Mycroft's personal space as he yelled about something Mycroft couldn't remember. Greg's anger had been irrelevant compared to the sudden urge of lust and the thump in Mycroft's chest when the man leaned so far over his desk that Mycroft could feel his breath against his cheek.

He, Mycroft thought with sudden and complete certainty, was the one.

Eight months later and he was warm in bed beside him. This wonderful man who was everything Mycroft never expected. He was funny, kind, passionate, loyal, fair, angry, supportive, energetic, intelligent, handsome, solvent, ambitious. He was everything Mycroft could ever have wanted.

Which was why Mycroft had to break up with him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

'Coffee?' Greg looked over his shoulder as Mycroft entered the kitchen, already fully dressed and ready for work.

'No thank you,' was the reply, careful and even as Mycroft collected his belongings. Even after all these months he never left anything at Greg's flat when he stayed over. It was a habit he had been careful to avoid all of his adult life, and he saw no reason to let it slide now. Actually, it was especially important to him that he kept that distance between himself and Greg because for the first time in his life he had met someone who made him want to leave a change of clothes or his toothbrush.

He was about to speak when Greg beat him to it.

'Hey, I'm supposed to finish at six today, if you're free this evening do you want to get some dinner at that Chinese place we went to when-'

'No.'

Greg shrugged, not picking up on the tone in Mycroft's voice, 'Alright. I suppose we have had a lot of Chinese lately. What about Italian then? Or we could-'

'I think not.'

At that Greg looked up at him, a tiny crease between his eyes the only indication that he had picked up on something.

'Anywhere you want to go then?'

'No.'

'Jesus Myc,' Greg forced a laugh in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere again, 'You're not making this easy. Where do you want to go?'

'I do not wish to go anywhere.'

'Takeaway then? Lie on the sofa and watch a film?'

'No.'

Greg was starting to get annoyed with Mycroft's lack of enthusiasm. Good.

'Christ. What is wrong with you this morning? I'm just trying to take my boyfriend to dinner.'

And this was it. The moment he would do it. Mycroft steeled himself, desperately wishing he didn't have to do this. He had never expected to grow so fond of Greg. Caring about him was not part of the plan.

'I'm not your boyfriend.'

'Okay. What would you call it then? Partner? Other half?'

'I wouldn't call it anything. The whole concept is juvenile.'

And at that Greg finally lost his temper, 'Juvenile? You didn't seem to think that half an hour ago when you had your cock in my mouth!'

'A mistake I shall not be repeating.'

'And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?'

Mycroft didn't respond, instead he turned for the door, briefcase in one hand, umbrella in the other.

'Mycroft?'

Greg crossed the tiny kitchen in two strides.

'Hey,' he said, 'Don't just walk out. What is wrong with you this morning? What's going on?'

'Nothing,' Mycroft turned his icy stare on Greg, who visibly recoiled from it, having never once been on the receiving end of it before.

'Well then talk to me. This isn't good.'

'Correct,' Mycroft nodded, 'I believe this... _relationship,_ ' he said the word with a practiced sneer that gave no hint of the way his heart was breaking, 'Has run it's course.'

There was silence for a long moment as Greg tried to digest what Mycroft had just said. Mycroft took advantage of the moment to let himself out the door, ignoring the ringing in his ears and the hammering of his heart as he walked, concentrating on taking steady, measured steps.

It was better this way.

Caring was not an advantage.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay with this one. But life has been stressful lately. Heed the tags.

Once upon a time Greg Lestrade would have drowned his sorrows in the time honored tradition of dumped men everywhere. But not now. He was in his fifties and something about acting like a broken-hearted twenty year old left a sour taste in his mouth. Besides, he had a job to do. Murderers couldn't be allowed to walk free just because Mycroft Fucking Holmes had broken up with him.

Of course, it didn't help that he had to work with the man's brother on an almost daily basis. But Greg was a professional, and blocking Sherlock out was surprisingly easy, especially when he had John on hand to act as a barrier of sorts between the mad man and the rest of the world. But today there was something off about the doctor, and Greg couldn't put his finger on it. He'd have asked him outright if they hadn't been surrounded by other people. Instead he just watched as john avoided direct eye contact, and stayed a little bit further away from Greg than he normally would. 

Eventually, just as Sherlock was wrapping up for the day, about to make his dramatic exit, Greg couldn't stand it any longer and he cornered the two men as they were getting ready to leave.

'Alright, what is it?'

'Hmm?' John blinked in what he apparently thought was innocence, but Greg had known him long enough to spot his tells, and with one quick glance across the car park to where Sherlock was desperately pretending that he wasn't interested in whatever Greg was saying to John, and Greg had his answer. He smiled, despite the tinge of sadness that came with it.

'Congrats, mate. About bloody time.'

John shifted slightly, still not fully looking at hid friend, 'We didn't want to rub it in, you know...?'

Greg nodded, 'Good for you.'

'And you...? Are you...?'

Greg stopped smiling, 'It's over, John. I don't know what I did, but apparently I did something wrong.'

John seemed to think about this for a long moment, 'Holmes' aren't like normal people.'

'Well, it doesn't matter now, does it?'

'But...'

'John! Home!' Sherlock captured John's arm and was hauling him towards the road before John had a chance to finish his sentence. Greg was left standing alone, watching the two men bicker as they made their way towards the road.

'Sherlock!' Greg started after them, but he was stopped in his tracks by a sleek, black car pulling up silently beside him. He pointedly turned his back on it and was already making his way back to his team when he heard Mycroft's voice for the first time in weeks.

'Gregory, please.'

And that was how Greg Lestrade found himself sitting in the back of Mycroft Holmes' car, barely able to contain his annoyance, and waiting for the redhead to speak. 

'So what do you want?' Greg demanded, unwilling to play whatever game Mycroft had in mind, and barely able to even look at him without the pain in his chest threatening to overwhelm him again.

That had been one of the most terrifying realisations of his life. The sudden and complete knowledge that he loved, really loved, Mycroft Holmes had hit him hard about the same time as Mycroft walked out of his flat, and he had been trying to ignore that feeling every moment since. But now, seated across from the pale man, he was going to have to face up to it if he didn't get out of the car quickly. 

'Look,' he snapped, 'Whatever you want just tell me, and then we can both get on with our lives. If it's Sherlock and John then I already know and I think it's a goo-'

'I'm pregnant.'

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Life happened.

There wasn't really a correct way to respond when your ex had just announced something like that. Not that Greg was certain he would have been able to voice words even if he could find them. Mycroft, however, had a clearly prepared speech and he didn't quite look at Greg as he spoke.

'No doubt you have some questions, which I will do my best to answer. Firstly, yes, I'm certain. I've know for some time. I had not planned on telling you quite like this, but now Sherlock knows, so my hand was somewhat forced in the matter.'

'Threaten to tell Mummy, did he?'

'Yes, actually,' Mycroft evidently saw no humour about the situation, 'I wanted to make it clear from the offset that I do not require or request your assistance or presence, and I have no desire to reconsider our previous relationship. Likewise, you are not financially responsible and I can have my solicitor prepare all the necessary paperwork. You should have ti by the end of the week.'

It was only then that Greg became aware the car had stopped. He stared at Mycroft, open mouthed.

'That's all you have to say?'

'I would apologise, but that would imply that I regret my actions and I do not. I only regret any potential inconvenience this situation may cause to you in the short term. But perhaps a financial settlement could be arranged-'

'You can#'t buy everyone off, Mycroft!' Greg ran a hand through his hair and shook his head, 'And how did you get pregnant? You were on the pill!'

For the first time Mycroft looked truly uncomfortable, but he maintained his composure remarkably well for a man who was about to reveal something that cross a line, even for him, 'Contraceptives only work when you take them.'

'What the fuck does that mean? You...you did this on purpose? Jesus fucking Christ! You can't mess with other people's lives like that, Mycroft!' Greg's anger was the only thing keeping him together and preventing him from punching the window. He took a few deep, steadying breaths before he realised Mycroft was still speaking.

'As I said, my actions were not...well thought out, but I will not apologise for them. It was never my intention to pursue a relationship with you and when I realised you becoming attached I thought it best to end things.'

'Hang on, you used me to get pregnant? That is...that is really low,' and there were tears threatening to come now, tears of shock and anger and stupidity for thinking that a man like Mycroft Holmes had actually been interested in him, 'You're a real bastard, do you know that? I really fucking cared about you, and you go and do something like that? Why? You fucking dumped me out of the blue and then now you're telling me this was all part of some grand plan of yours? Why?'

'Because would you want a relationship with someone who did what I did?' 

'No,' Greg wrenched open the car door and let himself out, 'No I really fucking wouldn't.'

After a long moment, Mycroft reached out and pulled the door closed before pressing the intercom to signal to his driver that they could move on.

They could all move on.


	5. Chapter 5

True to his word, two thick envelopes were delivered to Greg from Mycroft's solicitor. He left them unopened on his desk, not quite ready to face them, until one of the sergeants asked about them.

'It's nothing,' Greg said, quickly swiping them into his drawer. Truth was, he just didn't want to hear anything from Mycroft right now. Not until he managed to get everything straight in his own mind.

He didn't tell anyone. Although it was obvious that John knew, so maybe Sherlock was finally getting over his tendency to keep things to himself. Silver linings and all, Greg thought bitterly.

Eventually he couldn't put it off any longer, and God knows he wasn't going to get any answers without talking to Mycroft again, or at the very least reading what he had to say, and he couldn't do that if he was hiding the paper work in his desk drawer. He'd briefly considered asking his Mother for advice, but he wasn't entirely sure her nerves would cope, and the only other person he would have considered talking about it with was his ex wife, and he had a feeling that would have gone down just as badly.

So, instead he packed up on time and headed home via the off licence, he had a feeling he was going to need a drink to deal with the contents of the envelopes.

And he was right. They were basically word for word what Mycroft had proposed to him, including a financial settlement of a sum so big it made his eyes water. Instead of signing them and returning them like Mycroft wanted, Greg read them through again, before sitting back in his chair and crying for only the third time in his adult life.

#

It was a bad idea. 

Even in his drunken and emotional state Greg knew it was a bad idea. But after debating with himself for an hour and half a bottle of vodka, he picked up with the phone and called Mycroft. Surprisingly the other man answered, although his tone was unfamiliar and cool. There was a brief murmur of conversation in the background and a distant door closing. When Mycroft spoke again his voice was still wary, but less formal.

'Gregory, I trust you have had an opportunity to review -'

'Shut up!' Greg growled, startling Mycroft into silence, 'You don't get to talk to me like that. Like I'm one of your minions.'

'Perhaps we should have this conversation when you are less inebriated.'

'No, I think we are going to have it now. Because I want to know how you can treat someone like that? Like I was just a...a  _thing_ that you could pick up and play with. Is that how you are going to treat the baby too? Are you going to ship it off to a fancy school when it get's inconvenient? Because that's how people like you work, isn't it? You have everything and because you have everything you think you SHOULD.'

'Gregory-'

'No. I'm NOT finished. I thought we were friends. And I fucking liked you. And all you did was lead me on some dance and then take something that was not yours to take and now you expect me to just walk away from all this like it never happened and it doesn't mean anything?'

'I thought that would be the best-'

'You didn't think at all. You never think. For all your fucking brains you never actually think about other people, there are never any consequences for you.'

There was a pause while Greg caught his breath, allowing Mycroft to speak again, quietly now.

'Does that mean you won't sign the papers?'

'No,' Greg sighed heavily, suddenly exhausted, 'I'll sign them. If that's what you want, because let's be honest I don't really have a fucking choice when it comes to you, do it? But...but you didn't have to do that way, Myc,' Greg's voice was sad and small as he spoke, weighed down with pain, 'You didn't have to pretend to like me, pretend all that stuff. If you didn't want a stranger involved...you could have just said.'

'Pardon?'

Greg closed his eyes as he spoke, 'I'm not an idiot. I know someone like you doesn't want inconvenient exes floating around making demands, or take the risk with a one night stand or some random sample in a clinic somewhere. So...so you could have just been honest. You remember honesty? You didn't have to...you didn't have to pretend.'

#

Greg hung up, and Mycroft sat where he was behind his desk, contemplating Greg's parting shot.

_You didn't have to pretend._

Mycroft closed his eyes for a second against the pain in his chest.

'I didn't,' he said.


	6. Chapter 6

Mycroft and Greg didn't see or speak to each other for the next two weeks, and while neither was willing to make the first move and talk to each other, they weren't about to use Sherlock as a go-between. Greg knew he should just grow up and talk to Mycroft, but he still couldn't bring himself to face the other man, partly shame at the drunken phone call he had forced on the politician, and partly because he was still working out what to say without letting his anger get the better of him. Fuck knows it wouldn't do to punch the other man in the face like he desperately wanted to at times, so for the moment he knew it was better that they had a little space from each other.

Instead he'd gone through the papers that had been sent over, and now that he was doing it sober, his brain was working a bit faster and some things were a lot clearer than they had been the first time.

For instance, if the estimated delivery date was correct, and...well, it was Mycroft, so it would be, then not only had Mycroft obviously been aware that he was pregnant when he broke up with Greg (as if stating his only intention in being with Greg was to get pregnant in the first place hadn't made that clear enough) but he had also been pregnant for quite a while before he broke up with Greg.

Which didn't make sense. Not when it came to Mycroft. Mycroft had been  _trying_ to get pregnant, and Mycroft was meticulous about everything he did. He'd have known as soon as it was detectable. Fuck, he wouldn't have put it past the man to have been on a strict schedule of tests to find out as early as possible.

Greg frowned as he scribbled dates on a scrap of paper. He and Mycroft broke up five weeks ago, give or take a day or two, and according to what information Greg had been given, Mycroft must have known for...he counted again but got the same numbers. At twenty one weeks now, Mycroft must have been sixteen weeks when he ended things. Which meant that Mycroft had been keeping that to himself for...months.

That hurt more than Greg could have anticipated, and he couldn't help but think back over the last few months of their relationship looking for signs. He laughed at that then, because he hadn't a clue what to look for. He couldn't even say Mycroft's behaviour had been off, because everything had been normal between them. Fuck, even that last morning, half an hour before Mycroft so coldly walked out, things had been fine. Well, more than fine judging by how long it took for either of them to be convinced to leave bed.

And then another thought struck him. He didn't know much about pregnancy, but he knew enough to know how long it lasted. Mycroft was twenty one weeks pregnant. He was over half way to having a baby.

And he didn't want Greg to have anything to do with either him or it.

#

Mycroft had been unhappy breaking the news to his parents. Mainly because he knew that they would be happy, and then as soon as they started asking questions he was going to have to tell them something that would upset him. It took him a lot longer to work out what to tell them than it had to tell Greg.

In the end he settled for the basic facts and nothing more. He knew that Sherlock, despite his threats, wouldn't elaborate any further. Not since Mycroft had told him their parents didn't know that his darling John was still married to someone else. A fact Sherlock had chosen to leave out of his own little revelation, and which would not go down well with either of his parents. 

In the end it turned into a few simple sentences said in calm tone that he knew would prevent further questions.

No Mummy, he wouldn't have wine with dinner. No, nothing was wrong. He was pregnant. Yes Mummy, that nice policeman. No Mummy, they had broken up. No Mummy, they hadn't broken up because of the baby.

There had been a slight pause in the conversation at that moment, during which Sherlock, who had insisted on coming along for his own amusement, narrowed his eyes at Mycroft, the slight smirk slipping of his face as he considered his brother. But the younger man, true to his word, didn't say anything at the table. Instead he waited and cornered Mycroft in the bathroom later.

'You're an idiot,' Sherlock said without preamble.

Mycroft didn't even look up from his hands as he dried them. He didn't need to ask his brother to elaborate, he knew exactly what Sherlock had seen and heard in his words and expression.

'I know.'


	7. Chapter 7

'And so you understand the full implications of the decision?' The elderly lawyer sitting across the table asked.

At the far end, slightly apart from the action, Mycroft sat, his hands clasped on the table in front of him, his eyes on the papers on the desk, silent and still. Anthea was hovering against one wall, her attention seemingly on her phone, but Greg knew better than to assume she wasn't listening. Greg had been surprised, but not shocked, when he was summoned to this meeting, and although it was worded as a request, there was no denying it was an order.

Any other time and he would have riled against Mycroft's commands, but he was just too tired to fight right now, and he needed a clear head to deal with this, and he knew that getting angry wasn't going to help either of them through this. Shouting wasn't going to change the situation, and a small part of him was proud at how adult he sounded at that. Twenty years ago and he'd have already been throwing punches.

'Mr Lestrade?' the lawyer prompted.

Greg took a deep breath and straightened up before nodding, 'Yeah.'

'While your name will be listed on the birth certificate, you understand that you will have no legal rights over the child and no right to access while the child is under eighteen?'

Greg glanced down the table to Mycroft, who hadn't moved, and looked at him for a long second before turning back to the lawyer and nodding again, slower this time.

'The child will live with Mr Holmes and be his sole responsibility. He will make all decisions pertaining to the education and welfare of the child until such times as the child reaches-'

'What if something happens to Mycroft?'

The lawyer blinked, thrown slightly, clearly not used to being interrupted mid sentence. 

'Pardon?'

'What if something happens to Mycroft?' Greg repeated, and out of the corner of his eye there was the slightest of movements and then he felt the intensity of Mycroft's gaze.

'I don't think I-'

'What if he dies?' Greg cast out wildly, 'Or has an accident or...or...I don't know. What if something happens to him? Who's going to look after the...it?'

The elderly man looked down at the file in front of him and consulted a page before answering, 'There is a contingency put in place for unforeseen events.'

'What does that mean?' Greg frowned.

'It means the child will be taken care of.'

'By who?' Greg knew his voice was rising and he clenched his fists in an effort to control his temper.

'Currently his parents will step in should Mr Holmes expire before the child reaches legal age.'

Greg gave a bitter laugh, 'Seriously? Don't get me wrong, his parents are brilliant, but they are about a hundred and are likely to go long before Mycroft. So what happens then? Who will look after it if that happens?'

'I believe that would-'

'You say Sherlock and I'll come over that table and chin you!'

There was a snort from the far end of the table, and Greg whipped his head around just in time to catch the slight smirk on Mycroft's face, and he couldn't help but smile back at the absurdity of Sherlock with a child. But then there was the rustle of papers from the lawyer and the moment was gone. Mycroft dropped his eyes again and Greg turned back to the lawyer.

'So?' he prompted.

'Mr Holmes has an aunt-'

'No.'

There was a silence so sharp that even Anthea glanced up from her phone, her eyes darting between Greg and the lawyer with an amused expression.

'I'm sorry?'

'I said no. No elderly distant relatives, no...guardians, no fucking  _Sherlock!'_

'Mr Lestrade, if you are suggesting that you-'

'No,' Greg shook his head and sighed, 'I know that's not part of the deal. Okay. I just want to know that someone  _responsible_ will be there if Myc...Mr Holmes, isn't.'

There was an uneasy silence that lasted a few seconds too long, and then the lawyer gave a curt nod before he spoke again.

'Mr Holmes has stipulated that a Ms Templeton will step in should that instance occur.'

'Who?'

There was a discreet cough from the corner, and Greg looked over to see Anthea still tapping away at her phone, and once again he laughed.

' _Anthea?'_ he leaned back in his seat, shaking his head, then he turned to Mycroft, 'Only you would name a ninja as your child's legal guardian.'

Mycroft lifted his eyes in surprise and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Anthea's long suffering sigh of, 'I am _not_ a ninja.'

'Mr Lestrade, if we could continue?'

Greg turned away from Mycroft, unable to shake the feeling that this whole thing had turned into some sort of farce.

'Right, what else then?'

'So you are content with that arrangement?'

Greg nodded, 'A kid could do a lot worse than Anthea.'

'Thanks,' came a sarcastic whisper.

'Now,' the lawyer pressed, 'Mr Holmes will provide for all of the child's financial needs, and upon birth the the trust fund Mr Holmes has arranged will become active, so should something happen to Mr Holmes funds will be available immediately for the child's continued welfare until such time as inheritance has been released.'

Greg had long suspected that Mycroft's family had more money than his parent's and Sherlock liked to pretend, but he wasn't really sure he wanted to know exactly how much.

'Mr Holmes has also arranged for a financial payment to be made to yourself to compensate for any distress or disruption this may cause.'

'I don't want it,' Greg's voice didn't sound like his own, and he fought to keep the emotion out of it. The idea that Mycroft had used him was bad enough, but he refused to be treated like some kind of prostitute over it.

'Mr Lestrade-'

'I said no. And I'll keep saying it. I don't want it.'

'In that case I should advise you that the funds will be held in trust for a period of ten years, and at any stage during that period you can chose to access the funds.'

'Not happening.'

'The future can be uncertain, Mr Lestrade.'

'One part of it isn't.' Greg knew he was being cheeky but he was really beyond caring. Mycroft was trying to buy him off and his child was potentially going to be raised by a woman who carried a gun in her bra. He just wanted to get out of the room and go home and get very, very drunk and try to forget about all of this.

'Nevertheless,' the lawyer said, and pulled a sheet of paper from his file, passing it over to Greg, 'You have already had time to read the proposals and if you are content then sign your name on both pages and the arrangement will come into effect immediately.'

Greg nodded. He knew it wouldn't matter how much he fought this, Mycroft would get his way one way or another. But maybe this was Greg wouldn't end up at the bottom of the Thames to achieve that. He pulled a cheap biro out of his pocket and glanced over the paper to make sure that nothing had been changed since he last looked at it - he'd known the Holmes brothers long enough to double check everything. He was about to scrawl his name, his hand shaking unexpectedly, when a thought occurred to him and he turned once more to Mycroft.

'Will you keep me updated?'

Mycroft looked at him, a strange, questioning look, like he wasn't really sure what the question was or how to answer it.

'I know you don't want me...' Greg choked at that but forced himself to continued, 'Don't want me involved. But will you just..let me know things sometimes? That's all.'

Mycroft continued to hold his gaze, and Greg had that strange, and painfully familiar feeling that Mycroft was looking right into his soul. Then Mycroft nodded, just once, the barest inclination of his head, so slight it might not have happened at all. But it was enough for Greg, who gave him a sad smile and signed his name before he could change his mind.

Without another word Greg pushed his chair away and stood up, wrenching open the door and stalking down the corridor as far away from that office as possible, refusing to think about what he had just done.


	8. Chapter 8

Greg called worked and feigned a stomach virus, then boarded the first plane he could to France, where he spent two weeks with his parents, who were aware something was wrong, but skirted around the issue after Greg's first outburst.

'Oh!' his mother had cried when the taxi pulled up, 'We weren't expecting you! Is Mycroft with you?' she had glanced over his shoulder to the taxi which was pulling away.

'No.' Greg stiffened slightly and his mother pulled back, concerned.

'You didn't have a fight? Oh, he's such a nice man. What did you do?'

It was a perpetual belief of his mother's that Mycroft was sweet and charming and any issue in their relationship would obviously be Greg's fault. His parents had met Mycroft a handful of times during the months of their relationship, always during one of their trips to London and usually in passing, bar one, surprisingly easy dinner where Mycroft had showered his mother with attention and knowledgably talked about politics with his father. All in perfect French, of course.

'I didn't do anything,' Greg protested.

'You don't look like a man who's done nothing.'

'Thanks,' Greg muttered and shouldered his bag, already heading for the house where he could hear the radio in the kitchen.

'Grégoire?' his mother followed him up the path, a frown on her face.

In the kitchen his father was listening to the cricket while surreptitiously feeding the dog pieces of toast. He smiled widely when he saw his son.

'On your own?' even Greg didn't miss the slightly excited look his father shot towards his mother.

'Yes.' Greg narrowed his eyes as his father, taking in the elderly man's slight impatience, 'What?'

His father feigned innocence, 'Nothing. It's just, well, an unexpected visit. We thought that perhaps,' his father was ignoring the frantic shaking of his mother head and carried on regardless, 'There might some...announcement?'

Behind Greg his mother let out a sigh, while his father carried on looking at Greg expectantly. For one, terrible moment Greg thought his parents knew about the baby. But then he realised that his mother wasn't shouting at him so they were obviously blissfully ignorant of that particular fact. Then, with a sickening dread, he realised what his father meant.

'We broke up.' Greg's voice was flat and to the point, and he almost felt bad at the way his father's face fell at the words.

'Oh son,' he began, but he was cut off by Greg's mother, who steered him towards the table, a bottle of wine already in her hand.

'You look like you could do with some dinner, when was the last time you ate a proper meal? You're too thin now. All that running around the streets...'

And so the conversation flowed around him, and Greg let himself get swept up in life at home and the warm red wine and tried for forget about London and everyone in it for a while.

#

'Are you listening to me, Mycie?'

'Hmm?' Mycroft forced himself to focus on his mother, who frowned at him across the table, her teacup halfway to her lips.

'Oh honestly,' she shook her head, but her tone was indulgent, 'I was saying that your cot it still in storage if you would like it sent over for when the baby arrives. It would be nice to have it passed on. It was your father's as well. Huge hulking thing it is, the size of a car. God knows what your grandmother was thinking. Something about heirlooms or some nonsense. Still, it was a better option than the awful white thing with the ducks painted on it that my mother suggested. I rather think they would have given you boys nightmares, and Sherlock was a difficult enough child as it was. Still, he did manage to get his head stuck in between the bars, which I suppose was the first sign of trouble really...'

Mycroft zoned out again as his mother started on one of her well rehearsed rants about his brother. He was still dwelling on the meeting with Gregory. He had expected shouting and ranting and accusations. But instead Greg had seemed resigned to the events. Even so, Mycroft had been surprised when he'd signed his name.

What he really couldn't shake, however, were the small moments between himself and Gregory that had startled him. The shared smile, and the way the policeman had made him laugh even in the most tense of situations. But most of all, Mycroft keep seeing Greg's face when he looked at him at the end, his own brown eyes pained and pleading as he begged for smallest of things from him. That one request, asked almost without hope, had hurt Mycroft more than anything else Greg could have said.

If Greg had hated him, had ranted and raved and thrown things then Mycroft could have coped. Part of him had _hoped_ Greg would react like that because it would have been easier. But Greg hadn't been able to mask the hurt and pain and _grief_ that Mycroft's actions had caused him. Mycroft could see it in his eyes every time he looked at him, and it broke the heart everyone else assumed Mycroft didn't have.

'...have a different idea?'

Realising his mother had asked him a question Mycroft dragged himself back to the conversation, completely ignoring the untouched food in front of him.

'Sorry, Mummy, you were saying?'

'I said dear Greg might a family cot that he'd like the baby to use. You should ask him.'

Mycroft nodded, 'I will.'

He wouldn't.

 


	9. Chapter 9

If there was one thing John Watson was good at, it was knowing when to bring coffee to a crime scene. He handed Greg the takeaway cup and they both turned around to watch Sherlock work.

'How are you feeling?' John asked.

'I didn't really have a stomach virus,' Greg said.

'I know. That's not what was I was asking.'

Greg smiled despite himself, 'Like shit.'

'You spoken to Mycroft lately?'

Shaking his head Greg took a sip of the too-hot coffee, 'Not since I sighed away all of my parental rights.'

John turned to face him, his mouth open, 'You did what?' he hissed.

'It's fine.'

'It's clearly not fine if the look on your face is anything to go by.'

'Leave it, John'

'But-'

'Please.'

There was a pause, during which John glanced around to make sure no one else was within earshot.

'Are you seriously just going to give in like that?' he demanded.

Greg sighed again, 'Mycroft Holmes always gets what he wants, one way or another. So why fight him?'

'Greg! If it were my kid I would be fighting tooth and nail for them. Are you seriously just going to let Mycroft do this? Haven't you thought about the baby?'

'Yes, John, I have thought about nothing but the baby. Look around you, see all this, all this blood and crap coffee and anti social hours?  _This_ is what I have to offer. You know what Mycroft is going to give the kid? The fucking moon! That kid is going to have everything. It'l be the most well protect kid in the country. The best schools, the best of everything. It's never going to be worried, or scared or want for anything. And yeah, I would love to be there, I would love to be a part of it's life, do all the parent teacher things, football and school plays, but that's not going to happen. And if my signing my name is going to give my child the sort of life and opportunities that I want for it, then I'd do it again in a heartbeat.'

John reeled back, shocked at Greg's forcefulness, and Greg immediately felt bad, that deep, now-familiar exhausted feeling washed over him.

'Sorry, John.'

John didn't have a chance to reply before Sherlock was at their side.

'I hear you had a run-in with Uncle Rudy.'

'Who?'

'One of my mother's brothers. He sometimes acts as a lawyer for Mycroft who-'

'Your uncle?' Greg clenched his jaw and shook his head even as he turned to face John, 'I would never have won.'

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heed the tags.

When it happened it was quick, and Mycroft was grateful for that. The initial reassurances about the bleeding quickly gave way to heart monitors and painkillers and discussion of options. But in the end there simply wasn't time. Theatre was prepped and just forty minutes after the bleeding started, everything was over.

Six hours later, completely against his doctors wishes, Mycroft Holmes checked himself out.

#

Greg sighed when John appeared in his office.

'I really don't have time for this today,' he said, already anticipating what Sherlock could have done now that warranted a solo visit from the doctor.

John didn't respond, instead he closed the door behind him. Greg frowned when John reached over and closed the blinds too, but it wasn't until he saw the look on the doctors face that he realised someone was very wrong.

'Greg...' John began, licking his lips as he struggled to find the words.

'What happened?' Greg's voice was flat as he found down the surge of panic that was swelling in his chest.

'Mycroft had the baby.'

John's voice was low and soft, but the  words roared in Greg's ears as their meaning sunk in.

'But he's only twenty six weeks...' Greg closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, when he opened them again John was still standing by the door, pale and tense, 'Is it...?'

For the longest moment John didn't look like he was going to answer, and then he slowly shook his head.

Greg didn't know what to say. His first thought was Mycroft, who had wanted the baby so much. Greg's chest constricted with grief for the red head, who would no doubt be maintaining his usual, icy and detached exterior.

'How is he?'

John shrugged, 'Not sure. It was his mum who called us. I think she wanted to make sure that Sherlock didn't go over there.'

Greg groaned, 'Whatever you do keep him away from that hospital.'

'He's not at hospital,' John said, not surprising Greg in the slightest, 'He went home. His mum's coming down on the next train. Not sure if Mycroft knows that though.'

'Jesus,' Greg could just imagine the reaction that would get, and he stood up, quickly shrugging on his coat.

'You aren't going over there?'

'Course I am.'

'Greg, I really don't think that's a good idea.'

'John, I know you mean well, but you don't know -'

'He's not going to be pleased to see you.'

'Mycroft is never pleased to see anyone,' Greg replied, the words coming out more bitter than he intended.

'Greg!' John followed him out of the room and across the main floor, where the policeman's pale face and determined stride attracted the attention of his team mates. But Greg ignored them all, stepping into the lift and trying not to think of Mycroft dealing with everything on his own.

#

'Can I help you Detective Inspector?'

Greg took a moment to consider the man in front of him. Pale, with dark circles under his eyes, he clearly hadn't slept at all the previous night. He was fully dressed, immaculate as always, but his movements were slower than usual, and there was no disguising that he was feeling something so deeply, but he would never acknowledge it.

'I just wanted to see you.'

Mycroft took a long moment to respond, nodding once in understanding. Then he took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders, 'Obviously with recent developments the contract you signed is no longer relevant. However, provisions were made with clauses for such an event and the financial settlement will remain as it was not dependant on a live birth, so you can rest assured you will not be negatively impacted on this occasion.'

'I don't want your fucking money!' Greg shouted, and then immediately felt bad when Mycroft actually flinched slightly away from him, 'Sorry,' he stepped back, out of Mycroft's space and ran his hand through his hair, 'I'm sorry. I just...I just wanted to see you. I wanted to see how you were.'

Mycroft looked suspicious, as if he didn't know how to take that comment. Greg used his silence as an opening.

'I know you don't believe it, but I do care about you. I know how much you wanted...I'm sorry this happened to you. I'm so sorry.'

'There is no need to apologise. It won't change things.'

Greg hung his head, struggling to find the right words. When he finally looked up at Mycroft again he had to resist the physical urge to reach out and hold him. Instead Mycroft surprised him.

'I feel that I should be apologising to you for the upheaval it's caused you. I have taken that factor into consideration and next time I will chose a more appropriate route.'

'Next time...?' Greg blinked at the calmness in Mycroft's voice, 'You're going to do this again?'

'Perhaps not using the method's I previously employed,' Mycroft admitted, and there was something sad in his tone that Greg hadn't heard there before, and he realised that he didn't want Mycroft to do it again, not with some other man at least. There was something so wrong about hearing him talk so matter of factly about it after everything he had been through in the last twenty four hours. 

'I'd do it.'

'Pardon?' Mycroft was as surprised as Greg when the words came out of his mouth, but the instant he said them, Greg knew it was true.

'If you..if you decided to try again...I'd do it,' Greg chose his words carefully, but was already warming to the idea, which was something he was going to have to think about later, 'You wouldn't have to go to some random bloke, or...' Greg shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts of Mycroft with someone else, not liking the way that idea made him feel, 'Just, think about it. If you decide to.'

'Why would you offer?'

Greg shook his head, 'Honestly, Myc, I have no fucking idea. After everything I should want to stay as far away from you as I could get. But we've been friends for a long time, and if I could do that for you, if that would make you happy, then I'd rather it was me than some stranger.'

Mycroft blinked slowly, as if stunned by the offer. Before he could speak though, Greg took a deep breath and frowned slightly.

'You should be resting.'

'I assure you I'm fine.'

'You're clearly not,' Greg could see that even if Mycroft would never admit to it.

There was the sound of a taxi pulling up behind him, accompanied by Mycroft's groan. Greg turned to see a flash of silver hair and scarves as Mrs Holmes climbed out.

'You should go,' Mycroft's mask was suddenly back in place, and if Greg didn't know him better he'd have sworn there was nothing wrong.

He desperately wanted to argue, but he didn't. He just nodded and stepped away, pausing for a beat to take one last look at Mycroft.

'I meant what I said.'

He was almost at the roadside, where Mrs Holmes was approaching him, her kind eyes creased with concern. The whispered 'Thank you' from the man behind him was so quiet Greg might have imagined it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short chapter. sorry. I did warn you though.

'Hello stranger,' Molly beamed up at Greg as he opened the door to her lab, 'What brings you here? I didn't think I had anything for you today.'

'It's not a case,' Greg's voice was rough with emotion, and he focused on Molly, carefully avoiding looking around the lab.

'Oh?'

Looking into Molly's open face, Greg almost walked back out of the room, but he steeled himself, knowing that someone needed to do this.

'There was a baby...' Greg trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence.

''A baby?' Molly shifted uncomfortably, and Greg could see that she knew which one he was talking about. It was no coincidence that a baby named Holmes arrived in her room just hours before Greg turned up. But she bit her lip, clearly wishing he was somewhere else.

'Yes.'

Molly stopped pretending she didn't know what he was talking about, 'I'm not really supposed to talk about patients.'

'Molly,' Greg said, 'Please, just...just.'

'All I can tell you is that I had one infant come in during the night. Complete plancental abruption, delivery by section but no sign of life,' her words were brisk and efficient. Professional, but still laced with the softness and compassion that was just Molly. She looked at Greg with concern, 'Are you alright?'

Greg nodded, suddenly exhausted and unsure he could do this. It was a terrible idea. He shouldn't' be there. He should have just gone home. But there was a part of him that knew he had to do it. He'd never forgive himself if he didn't.

'Fine,' he lied. Because the truth was that he had no idea how he felt, 'Can we just do this?'

Molly nodded and started to lead Greg across the lab, away from her work area.

'Post mortem?' Greg asked, the words choking in his throat.

Molly gave him another one of those curious glances and then shook her head, 'No need.'

'And the paperwork?'

'I signed off on it myself. I thought it was best given who it was.'

Greg felt a surge of affection for the young doctor, 'Thanks, Molly.'

'So unless there's a reason you want to see the body...?' she trailed off as realisation hit, 'Oh!'

Her hand clapped over her mouth and she looked truly mortified.

'I'm sorry,' she blurted out, 'I didn't know. Oh god!'

Greg didn't say anything, he just waited for Molly pull herself together, which she did surprisingly quickly, and then, with a slightly strained voice, she told Greg to wait where he was. A few minutes later she came back and motioned for him to follow her. Greg wasn't sure what he was going to see, but nothing could have prepared him for the tiny form gently laid out in front of him.

Gripping the edge of the bench he forced himself to breathe, stealing glances until he was able to take a step closer.

Greg had seen a lot of dead bodies over the years, and so many of them had been children that he had thought himself immune to the shock and upset that comes with something like that. He was wrong. Perhaps it was because the form was so incredibly tiny, perhaps it was because it had been his. Perhaps it was the way Molly had gently wrapped the baby in a blanket before allowing Greg to see it. Shown that it was more than just a body on a trolley. And for that one small gesture Greg had never felt more grateful.

He examined the tiny hands with their impossibly delicate fingers. Took in every detail and wondered if Mycroft had even seen the baby. Without thinking he reached for his phone, snapping a picture. Molly gasped, horrified.

'You aren't really supposed to do that,' she said, slightly nervously.

Greg didn't even look up when she spoke, and eventually her footsteps retreated. Ten minutes later Greg walked out of the lab, suddenly desperate to be anywhere else. Molly glanced up from the bench she was working at and gave him a sad, supportive smile. Greg nodded his thanks to her and left without another word.


	12. Chapter 12

Months passed.

Greg and Mycroft gradually saw more of each other. At first during cases, or in passing at Baker Street, and eventually for lunch. Those meetings, at first tense and formal, eventually started to become what they once were, two friends comfortable with each other. The conversation began to move away from work and Sherlock, and Greg found himself looking forward to seeing Mycroft.

But part of him, part of Mycroft too if he was honest about it, kept certain topics off the table, always keeping the other person just at arms length, never letting things get to personal. And that was okay.

Greg had almost forgotten how funny Mycroft could be with his dry sense of humour and sharp observations, and for his part Mycroft enjoyed being around someone who laughed freely and without a shred of self consciousness. It was almost easy to pretend that nothing had happened between them. Almost.

Because the thing they couldn't quite ignore was the simmering tension between them. Not bad. Just there. Some teasing that strayed too far towards flirting and meant a swift change in topic. Sitting too close together in a crowded cafe and avoiding eye contact when their knees brushed under the table. But they could deal with those things. And in time that too became easier until the day when Greg could say that they were really friends again

There was one thing they never talked about, although more than once Greg almost brought it up, but the timing was never right, and there was always a wariness in Mycroft's expression when the conversation strayed too close to that topic. But Mycroft surprised him by bringing it up himself over lunch one day.

'I'm going to try for a baby,' Mycroft said matter-of-factly, his attention mostly on his fish.

He didn't look up for a few seconds, giving Greg a moment to process the statement and collect himself.

'Oh. Okay,' Greg nodded, 'Are you ready?'

Mycroft took a deep breath, his expression thoughtful, 'Yes. I believe so.'

'Right, well...' Greg trailed off, not really sure what to say. He hadn't quite been ready for or expecting this conversation, especially not with the way Mycroft had avoided it for months.

'I have an appointment in a week.'

'That's fast.'

'I've been considering it for a while,' Mycroft admitted, taking a sip of his water and avoiding looking directly at Greg.

'Right,' Greg nodded, 'So...how? I mean, are you seeing someone or...?'

Mycroft shook his head, 'Anonymous donor.'

Greg felt himself frown at those words as a feeling he couldn't quite identify rose in his chest, causing him to lean forward across the table.

'You don't have to do that, you know.'

Mycroft just sighed as if this was a conversation he had already had, and given Sherlock's mind reading abilities it was possible he had, 'Gregory...'

'No, hear me out. Do you really want to just pick a number out of a book?'

'As opposed to what?' Mycroft's voice was slightly sharper than normal, but that didn't put Greg off.

'I meant what I said, you know. I'll do it,' at the look on Mycroft's face Greg's confidence slipped slightly, 'I mean, I know you probably want someone smarter or more successful, but you thought I was good enough before, so...well,' he leaned back in his seat, finally dragging his gaze away from Mycroft so he wouldn't have to see the rejection in his face, 'Look, it's not some sort of grand scheme to get...it doesn't matter, but if you want it'll be your way. Properly done, official. Test tubes and contracts and everything.'

'Gregory, I don't think you realise what you are offering,' Mycroft's voice was stern, but Greg ignored him, 'And you were most unhappy with the official nature of the previous contract.'

'Yeah, well,' Greg shrugged, 'There'd have to be a few changes this time. If you wanted.'

'And why would you offer this?'

'Because we're friends, Myc. And honestly, there are selfish reasons too. I'm not getting any younger and...well, part of me really likes the idea of having a kid.  _Even,'_ he cut Mycroft off before the other man could interrupt him, 'Though we aren't together. I just...look, just the offer is there. Just think about.'

Mycroft nodded and went back to his fish.

he finally turned to Mycroft for a brief second and shrugged, 'Just, think about it. Yeah.


	13. Chapter 13

John Watson took a contemplative sip of his tea and carefully avoided looking at his friend while he thought through what he had just been told.

'So....' he began eventually, frowning slightly, ' You and Mycroft, you're...back together?'

'No.' 

'But you're having a baby?'

Greg nodded, 'That's the plan.'

'Together?'

'Hmm hmm.'

'...right.' John took another sip, his frown deepening, 'So, how exactly does that happen?'

'It just seemed like the right thing to do.'

'Have a baby with your ex boyfriend.'

'We're friends, John. That's all.'

'I'll believe that when you do.'

The silence dragged, punctuated occassionally by John letting out a huff of breath as if he was about to say something but changed his mind. Eventually Greg couldn't take any more and he leaned back in his seat, spreading his hands on the table in invitation.

'Alright, just say whatever it is you've got to say because that sour look on your face is putting me off my lunch.'

'It took you ages to get over that whole thing with Mycroft before, I just don't think you should go back there. Sleeping with him is a bad enough idea, never mind having a bloody baby!'

'You're a fine one to talk about making bad romantic choices.'

John's face hardened as it always did when the subject of his marriage came up, 'That was different.'

'If you say so. And besides,' Greg shrugged, 'I'm not sleeping with Myc.'

'Isn't that sort of a requirement of baby production?'

Greg shifted uncomfortably, 'No necessarily.'

'Then how...? Oh my god!' John's voice rose, attracting the attention of several other customers. Greg glared at them until they lost interest, 'Are you serious? You actually planned this? With  _Mycroft?'_

 _'_ What's wrong with Mycroft?'

'I seriously do not have enough time to answer that question today,' John said, managing to pull a tiny smile from Greg, 'Have you even thought this through? You know it's insane, right?'

'Why though?' Greg leaned forward, 'Mycroft is my best friend, has been for years, and although you know, the relationship idea didn't work out too well, no, shut up John, we aren't going through this again,' John obediently closed his mouth and waited for Greg to continue, 'He really, and I mean  _really_ wants kids.'

'Yeah, I saw what he did last time to try and get one.'

'I'm going to stop talking about this if you keep that up,' Greg warned, 'Look, if your best friend wanted something so badly that they would do anything to get it, even risk losing everyone they cared about, and you could give it to them, wouldn't you do it too?'

John held Greg's gaze for a long moment before licking his lips and nodding slowly, 'We're not just talking about Mycroft here, are we?'

'No.'

And he could see that John understood, finally.

'Sherlock killed himself for you. Me having a wank into a plastic cup for Mycroft really isn't such a big thing in comparison.'

'But it is! It's so much bigger. It's another life you're talking about here. What happens then? Are you going to have a contract about visitation and rights?'

'Yeah actually.'

 

#

 

The contract had been surprisingly straightforward. Mycroft had drafted in Uncle Rudy, who was completed unashamed of his previous involvement, although he was much friendlier to Greg this time around. 

'Are you sure he's not going to tell your parents?'

'I think even my parents might notice when a baby appears.'

'I don't mean that, I mean, you know,  _how._ '

'Ah,' Mycroft nodded in understanding and then turned towards his uncle who was listening in with an amused expression, 'I don't believe we have anything to worry about in that particular area. Uncle Rudy is incredibly discreet.'

'Well, I am  _now,'_ Rudy laughed slightly and Greg got the impression there was more to the man than his unassuming exterior suggested.

Two hours later and they had thrashed out an agreement they were both happy with, and this time around Greg stuck to his guns when it came to access and his rights. Mycroft looked slightly uncomfortable, and Greg knew that was more about giving up some of his control rather than what he thought of Greg as a potential parent. Greg had also won the schooling issue. There would be no boarding school for his child, but in order to get Mycroft to agree to that he'd had to give in the matter of a nanny.'

'Purely practical, Gregory.'

Not that Greg really minded. He knew that whoever ended up employed would have been thoroughly researched, screened and tested, and likely a highly trained operative already working for Mycroft. Their kid was probably going to be the only one in London with bullet proof glass in the nursery.

'And then there is the matter of names,' Mycroft began, drawing a stern look from Greg.

'Well, if you think we're saddling that kid with something your mother could have made up then you have another thing coming.'

'There is nothing wrong with my name,' Mycroft protested.

'Really? And exactly how long were you bullied at school?'

Mycroft gave a slightly satisfied smile with just a glint of triumph in his eyes, 'Not as long as you might think.'

Greg couldn't help the laugh that escaped as the debate continued into surnames. Rudy remained silent through all of this, watching the exchange between the two men and occassionally making a note in his file with a slight smile. But the time the argument had escalated to surnames, Mycroft was declaring that Lestrade sounded made up, which was rich coming from a man called  _Mycroft,_ and Greg was loudly arguing that a double barrelled name was far too poncy for him to shout out at the park and Lestrade-Holmes would never fit on the back of a football shirt. It was at this point that Rudy interrupted them with a knowing smile.

'Perhaps the subject of names could be left for a later date?' he suggested, 'When the full facts are clearer.'

'Is suppose,' Greg conceded with a half hearted shrug, 'I mean, there's no point in arguing about it until we know if it's a girl or boy, right?' he looked to Rudy for confirmation, and was met with another of the man's mildly amused smile.

'...yes,' the elderly man said slowly, 'That's more or less what I meant.'

And then, with one last glance at each other, almost waiting to see if one of them would back out, Greg and Mycroft sighed the papers.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to what happened last time

Mycroft Holmes had seen a lot difficult things in his life. He had even been the cause of many of them. But by far the hardest thing he ever had to do was stand quietly beside his mother at a funeral for a child who didn't even have a name. He hadn't made any of the arrangements, hadn't wanted any part in it, as if ignoring it all meant it wasn't happening. Gregory had a series of solemn conversations with Mycroft's parents before he too decided it was too much and left it to Mycroft's mother to arrange.

Quiet and tasteful and light on the religious aspects, just as Mycroft would have insisted had he been able to offer his involvement. Gregory's parents didn't come, he had insisted his father remain in France, worried about his health and the strain the event would have had on him. Sherlock had avoided the service, but turned up at the graveside, standing close to John's side and watching with a frown the proceedings taking place in a small corner of the graveyard, surrounded by long dead Holmes elders.

Their mother had wanted to arrange a tea for afterwards, but that was the one thing Mycroft actually put his foot down on, and even then it was only when he overheard Gregory declare that it wasn't a fucking party. Privately Mycroft agreed and so that particular tradition had been absent from the day.

He had not spoken to Gregory. Had only made eye contact once as a vicar Mycroft had never met tried to talk meaningfully about a child that Mycroft had never even seen. The image of Gregory's pale, exhausted face had haunted Mycroft for weeks afterwards.

His parents had been kind in their way. His father had produced endless cups of tea and a single pat on the shoulder that was the limit of his comforting ability. His mother had maintained a steady stream of conversation that became nothing more than background noise that washed over Mycroft and was strangely soothing in it's own way.

Surprisingly it was spending time with Gregory that helped the most. The policeman didn't want to talk about it either, didn't utter the same platitudes and reassurances that seemed to spew from the select few who had any knowledge of what had happened. He didn't make suggestions of offer advice, and he didn't make assumptions about how Mycroft was feeling or how his plans had changed. He just did what Gregory had always done. He was simply there, drinking bad coffee and complaining about Sherlock and quietly slipping more food onto Mycroft's plate when he thought the politicians wouldn't notice. It was surprisingly normal and it...helped.

And for the first time since Mycroft had involved the unwitting detective in his plans, Mycroft remembered why he had liked the man so much and why they had been such good friends, and why it had terrified Mycroft how easy it was to let those feelings develop into something so much more.

He didn't find out about the photo until many months later. They had met for lunch as had become their custom on Thursdays. Gregory had been on edge, and if Mycroft hadn't known the man so well he would have said that Gregory was worried about something. But it wasn't until Gregory slid a large, padded envelope across the table towards Mycroft that it became apparent that Gregory was simply unsure of the possible reaction he might receive. Mycroft had frowned when Greg told him not to open it then, but he was glad he waited when, in the quiet of his own room later that night, he unveiled a small photograph. He had studied the image for a long time, taking in every detail of the tiny fingers and the eyelashes that framed eyes which had never opened. And then he put it away and never looked at it again.

He text Gregory just two words. Thank you.

An agonising hour later he received a reply.

_I thought you were ready._

And it was then that Mycroft realised that he finally was.


	15. Chapter 15

Mycroft sighed when his phone rang in the early hours of the morning, and mentally prepared himself to deal with whatever crisis was going to demand his attention. However, when he saw Gregory Lestrade's name on the screen that combination of happiness and fear he associated with Greg's calls shot through him. It wasn't unusual for Greg to call late at night if he needed Mycroft's advice, or if he was coming off a late shift and knew that Mycroft was likely to still be awake. Even so, a three am phone call was still worrying.

'Gregory,' despite the late hour and his unease, Mycroft still couldn't prevent the pleased tone in his voice.

'Hey,' Greg sounded exhausted, and Mycroft frowned, wondering what was coming next. Thankfully it didn't take Greg long to get to the point, 'Any idea why your brother is refusing to leave my office?'

'Is he being bothersome?'

'He's being a pain in the arse, Myc. He's sitting there sulking and refusing to go home.'

'Is Dr Watson with him?'

'No. And he's not answering his phone either.'

'Ah.'

On the other end of the line he heard Greg sigh.

'Alright, tell me what happened.'

'Mummy may have found out that John is still married to Mrs Watson.'

'How?'

'I believe they ran into each other in John Lewis.'

There was a slightly cruel laugh on the other end of the line, and the start of a rant Mycroft couldn't quite make out, but which sounded like Sherlock gearing up to apportion the blame on everyone else.

'And so he's hiding from his mum?'

'And Dr Watson.'

'Yeah, what did he do to John?'

'As I understand it he failed to warn John that Mummy was, as they say, onto them,' Mycroft actually felt slightly sorry for the small doctor, 'And you know how vocal Mummy can be.'

'And so he's moved into my office?'

'In the absence of other options it would appear so.'

'And you didn't think to warn me?'

'I hadn't considered that he would follow this particular course of action after the last time he attempted to take up residence in your place of work.'

'Yeah well, he's lucky Donovan's aim isn't all that great because you can do a lot of damage with a well thrown stapler.'

'I'm sure he had it coming.'

'Oh, he did,' Greg said darkly, while in the background Sherlock shouted something about police brutality and Greg's next words were directed towards the consulting detective, 'Listen here you little shit, if you keep that fucking racket up I'm going to stick my toe up your hole!....No, your brother isn't into that kind of thing. Fuck off and get yourself something to drink. No, no more coffee, something to calm you down. Some milk or something. I don't know, go to the shop and buy some. No you cannot have some of the Laudanum from yesterday's crime scene!'

Mycroft listened to Greg argue with Sherlock with a morbid fascination. Very few people could hold their own against Sherlock when he was in one of his moods, and it was almost a shame Greg was so tired and unable to respond with his usual vigor. Gregory Lestrade in full flow was something magnificent.

'Sorry about that, Myc,' Greg finally returned his attention to Mycroft.

'It's perfectly alright, Gregory.'

'And sorry about that comment about your hole. I have no idea if you like that kind of thing or not to be honest, and it's not really any of my business. Although if that's your thing then that's fine. You know, each to their own.'

'Gregory, you're rambling.'

'Yeah, sorry. I've had a lot of coffee tonight.'

'Bad case?'

'Mostly paperwork, and let me tell you that some of my sergeants get really creative when it comes to their spelling.'

'You probably shouldn't comment. I have read your emails, remember?'

'Yeah, well you used to crack codes for a living so my dodgy spelling shouldn't have given you too much trouble. But honestly, I'm not even sure some of these are written in English.'

'Perhaps you should think of them as a puzzle to be solved.'

'Right now I'm think of them as a bonfire.'

'I'm certain that would be frowned on by your superiors.'

'You wouldn't let them fire me, would you?'

'Whatever makes you think I would have any say in the matter?'

'Because I might act like a senile old man sometimes, but I'm really not as stupid as I look.'

'You look neither stupid nor old.'

'Just senile then?'

'Well you have been making some rather out of character personal choices recently.'

There was a small pause in the teasing exchange, and when Greg spoke again his voice was slightly more serious.

'You're appointment is tomorrow, yeah?'

'Yes.'

'If you change your mind, it's okay you know.'

'Likewise, Gregory.'

'Why would I want to do that? Don't you know that this is step one in my plan to breed an army of slightly evil geniuses to take over the world and provide for me in my old age.'

'Hmm. And this is a recent change in your plan I take it?'

'Just taking advantage of the situation.'

'That's rather mercenary of you.'

'Yeah well, if the smartest man in the country wants to have your babies then you'd be an idiot not to look at all the potential.'

'Babies?'

'Who knows? Do twins run in your family?'

'Not that I am aware.'

'Ah well.'

'However, one must consider that Sherlock is also a member of my family.'

'Bollocks! I never thought of that! Is it too late to change my mind?'

It was said in jest, but it still provoked a stab of panic in Mycroft that perhaps Gregory would change his mind at the very last moment.

'I...I..um..'

'Relax, Myc. I'm not going to change my mind.'

Mycroft sagged in relief and was glad that Greg couldn't see him.

'Just try and get some sleep and don't worry about tomorrow. It'll be fine.'

'There's no guarantee it will be successful-'

'So we'll do it again. As many times as it takes. Although next time I'm taking my own magazines if you know what I mean.'

'I'm quite certain I have no idea.'

'Well, unless you're willing to do a little strip tease to help set the mood....?'

'Gregory!'

Greg laughed, 'Was worth a try.'

'You are incorrigible!'

'Not sure what that means. Is it something good?'

'That depends entirely on the context.' Mycroft knew he shouldn't encourage this sort of exchange with Gregory, it was most unlike him, and not a tone of conversation he had ever used with anyone else. But it was light and reassuring and easy, and they both knew where they stood and there would be no misunderstandings this time. Mycroft wouldn't let there be, regardless of the part of him that really wouldn't mind.

'You want me to come with you tomorrow?'

'No. Certain things once seen cannot be unseen.'

'I've seen those bits of your before, so unless you've grown something new you haven't mentioned....' Greg broke off with a  small laugh and Mycroft could clearly picture the smile on his face, 'If you change your mind let me know. It's not like I'll be able to concentrate on much else.'

'It's not advisable to raise our expectations given this is the first attempt.'

'First, third, twenty fifth...however many it takes, Myc, and we're going to have that baby. Okay?'

The soft conviction in Greg's voice brought a smile to Mycroft's face and a surge or reassurance that would carry him through the next few days.

'However,' Greg continued as there was the sound of a door slamming and distant shouting that signalled the return of the younger Holmes, 'If it's like Sherlock I'm emigrating.'

 


	16. Chapter 16

Mycroft was supremely glad that Greg wasn't there to witness the awkwardness of the actual deed. Still, it was swift and simple and the doctor had been pleased with Mycroft's meticulous record keeping and detailed information. The clinic was discreet, professional and expensive and Mycroft felt reassured by the muted colours and the efficient staff.

He had redressed and was leaving, his hand already searching for his phone to catch up on his emails when a hand took his elbow and steered him away from the car where Anthea was waiting with a slightly amused smile.

'Gregory!' Mycroft protested as the policeman pulled him along the street.

'We're going for lunch.

'I'm afraid I have a lot of work that needs attention-'

'Not today you don't. Today we are going to have lunch.'

'But I have....Anthea?'

But Anthea just shook her head helplessly, 'Have fun, sir.'

Mycroft continued to protest as Greg steered him along the street, but it was halfhearted.

'So where are we going?'

'You know that little cafe opposite the station that you said looked like a biological disaster zone?'

'Oh Lord!'

'Yeah, well we're not going there.'

Mycroft sighed at Gregory's laugh and relaxed as they walked, slower now that Greg wasn't trying to drag him away from the car.

'Where then?'

'The Connaught?'

Mycroft paused slightly guiltily, 'I do enjoy the Connaught.'

'I know you do.'

'Smugness is not an attractive quality, Gregory.'

'I'll have you know some people consider me a very attractive man.'

'Are you still upset over the senile comment?'

'Well, it wasn't one of my finest moments, but I think I'll get over it.'

'Ambushing me in the street is not going to help your case?'

'Do you want a bloody scone or not?'

Mycroft pulled a face but fell silent as they walked companionably down the street.

 

#

 

Two days later Mycroft left for Geneva and Greg was still trying to get Sherlock to go home. His mother had, thankfully, stopped shouting, but John was still reeling from the verbal assault he had received.

'How do you even go about getting a divorce anyway?'

'Seriously?' Greg stared at John who was trying not to stare at Sherlock's arse as the detective bent over a body.

'What? You've been divorced, I thought you would know.'

'Know what?' Sherlock appeared at John's elbow, texting rapidly.

John shifted, looking uncomfortable, 'How to go about getting a divorce.'

'Good idea,' Sherlock didn't look up from his phone, 'Although I'm amazed that a man of your age and intelligence didn't already know how to get out of a marriage before he got into one.'

'Well it's not really something you think about when you are planning on spending the rest of your life with someone!' John snapped, but Sherlock was unfazed, 'Why would I expect you to understand,' John sighed, 'You've never made a life long commitment like that to someone else.'

'I did.'

Greg suddenly wished he was anywhere else than standing beside the two men at that moment. Sherlock was still focused on his phone, oblivious to the look of shock that John was giving him. 

'You did?'

'Hmm.'

Greg tried to edge away because he knew what was coming next, and the jealousy pouring off John was enough to make anyone uncomfortable.

'What...um..what happened?' John was trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably.

'When?'

'The...person you...committed to?'

'Why is that relevant?'

'Just curious. I didn't know...'

'It was a long time ago.'

Greg silently pleaded for John to drop it and have the conversation at home, but John was oblivious to everything except Sherlock right at that moment.

'So...what happened? Sherlock?'

At the sound of the his name Sherlock finally looked up at John, who had his hands clenched at his sides, trying to stay calm.

'What?'

'I was just asking you what...happened?'

There was a long beat of silence in which Sherlock looked at John with confusion as if trying to work out if John was being deliberately stupid.

'You married someone else.'

And with that Sherlock returned to his phone, moving back across the crime scene, leaving John standing shocked by the police car, Greg standing behind him, his eyes closed.


	17. Chapter 17

'Seriously, it was the worst fucking thing, and John just stood there not knowing what to say,' Greg stirred more milk into his tea, 'I mean, what  _can_ you say to something like that?'

Mycroft pursed his lips as Greg spoke, the concern clear on his face, 'And since then?'

'Well, Sherlock's been...Sherlock, but John's been a quiet. I think it got to him a lot more than he'd ever admit. I need more sugar, hang on.'

When Greg returned to the table Mycroft was casually flicking through Greg's phone.

'You have rather a lot of porn here.'

'And you need to learn about personal space,' Greg took his phone back with a smile, 'I need that porn.'

'Does one ever really  _need_ porn?'

'I'm going to pretend you didn't say that.'

Mycroft smiled and returned his attention to his cake before asking, a little too casually, 'Surely a man like yourself would have no difficulty in acquiring the real thing?'

'The sort of people who wouldn't care about my situation aren't the sort of people I really want to date.'

'Situation?' Mycroft narrowed his eyes slightly.

'Don't start, you know what I mean. Having a baby with my best mate who also happens to be my ex after he conned me into getting him pregnant before. Which you still haven't apologised for, by the way.'

'Apologising would imply remorse.'

'You're a real arse sometimes.'

'I'm led to believe that's something to do with hormones,' Mycroft tried to look innocent which just caused Greg to laugh.

'In all seriousness though, most people wouldn't do this after what happened last time.'

There was a silence for a long second and then Mycroft just nodded once, 'I know.'

'Stop pouting and eat your cake while you tell me about Geneva,' Greg instructed, 'And while you're at it you can explain to me why there's cucumber on this cake!'

#

Mycroft Holmes was a practical man and he knew it was silly to be secretive about what he was doing. It wasn't that he didn't  _want_ to share this with Gregory, instead he wanted to be on his own in case it wasn't the answer he wanted. The plan had been to wait until the following day, two full weeks since his appointment, but instead Mycroft was sitting on the edge of his bath trying to avoid looking at the six tests arranged on the floor. Perhaps six had been overkill, but Mycroft Holmes was nothing it not thorough.

And pregnant.

 


	18. Chapter 18

Mycroft was packing his belongings for a work trip when Greg arrived on his doorstep with smile and a large cardboard box which he presented to Mycroft.

'Gregory,' Mycroft couldn't help but return the smile, 'I wasn't expecting you.'

Greg shrugged, 'Well, I knew you were going away and I know you said you wanted to keep this to ourselves for now, so I thought you deserved a celebration, even if it's only a small one.'

'How thoughtful.'

'Well, it also means I won't feel so guilty about getting really pissed without you tonight. You alright?'

Mycroft blinked, 'I was just...I didn't expect that you would care so much.'

'Of course I care,' Greg frowned, 'This is a huge thing for you. If I didn't care then I wouldn't have agreed to this.'

Two hours later Greg and Mycroft had almost finished the whole cake and were unwilling, and slightly unable to move. Which is where Anthea found them when she arrived with some briefing. She looked from one guilty face to the other, and rolled her eyes when Greg started laughing.

'I'd better head,' he said, standing up slowly and groaning with the effort, 'I'm sure you still have stuff to do,' Greg shrugged on his coat and waved, 'See you, Anthea.'

Mycroft didn't realise he was still watching the door and smiling until Anthea gave a discreet cough, and he reluctantly turned his attention back to business.#

#

'Well you look happy.'

'I am,' Greg accepted the pint John set in front of him.

'Are you going to share?'

'Nope. Just in a good mood.'

'And does this good mood have a name?'

'It's not like that. Christ, why do you always assume it has to do with sex?'

'Years of having to hear detailed discussion about your sex life, including when you were with Mycroft, which was just disturbing.'

'Myc's gorgeous. You're just jealous I got there first.'

'I'm really not, you know.'

'Admit it, you fancied him a bit.'

'I'll say no such thing. Now, will we order some food?'

Greg shook his head, 'God no. I had half a chocolate cake before I came here.'

'Are you trying to give yourself diabetes?'

'Yeah well, on hindsight it wasn't such a good idea, but we thought it was at the time.'

'We?'

'Me and Mycroft.'

'Oh?'

'Don't start,' Greg warned, but John couldn't help notice the smile on his friends face and he wished he could be more positive about what that meant.

'Look,' John set his glass down and leaned forward slightly in his seat, 'I know you keep saying that you are just friends and - AND,' he spoke over Greg's protests, 'I really want to believe you, but you spend two hours with the bloke and you can't stop smiling. You weren't this sickening when you were shagging.'

'Speaking of shagging,' Greg said quickly, anxious to deflect the conversation away from himself in case he gave away something that he didn't want to, 'Is his nibs still sleeping on the sofa?'

'Yep,' John took a deep breath, 'He says it's nothing to do with anything, but his mum wouldn't let us share a room when we were over the other week, and I just don't think he appreciated all the attention it was getting. You know how he can be about some things.'

'Can't really blame him though, can you?'

John sighed, 'It's underway.'

'About time.'

'I know. Okay I know,' and from the look on John's face it was clear that he did know, even if he wasn't going to express it.

'I think he was just a bit hurt that you didn't do it sooner,' Greg shrugged, trying to be diplomatic, 'It was like you were still with Mary, and his mum treating him like was the other woman probably didn't help things.'

'Yeah, I know. But it's a big decision, it takes time. It's not like I leapt into a relationship with him without knowing that.'

'Well, yeah, but once you did you didn't get divorced, did you? In his head it was like you were keeping all your options open.'

'That sounds like something Mycroft would say.'

'That's 'cause it was.'

'So you talk about us to Mycroft.'

'Talk about everything to Mycroft.'

'Everything?' John asked, incredulous, 'Isn't that a bit awkward what with all....you know?'

'You want to know if Myc and me talk about who we're shagging?'

'Well....yeah.'

'It hasn't really come up.'

John smirked into his pint.

'That's not what I meant and you know it. We just...it's not a conversation that either of us have felt the need to have yet.'

'And if you go through with this plan of his? Surely he's going to want to know who you are seeing?'

'Probably. But again, since I have had precisely one shag since we split up I don't see it featuring any time soon.'

'And he's not seeing someone?'

'Don't think so,' Greg looked uncomfortable with the concept of that.

'Hmm,' was all John said.

'What?'

'Just hmm.'

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

Even when they had been dating Greg had been used to seeing or speaking to Mycroft for days, sometimes weeks at a time and so he was surprised when Mycroft called him on the sixth day of his conference. His voice had a tired edge to it that even Greg had to listen hard to spot, and it sparked a small burst of concern.

'You okay?'

'Fine, Gregory. Sherlock on the other hand is not.'

Greg frowned, suddenly all business, 'Is this something I need to worry about? Professionally?'

'No. He's currently gone to ground, but I have some of my people on it. However, I believe Dr Watson may benefit from your companionship and knowledge. I understand he's on his way to your office as we speak.'

'They had a fight?'

'Words were exchanged. Items of crockery were thrown and Mrs Hudson confiscated Sherlock's blowtorches. There also may have been threats regarding what she would do with Sherlock's violin if he carried on doing what he was doing to it.'

Well, that certainly sounded like someone having an argument. However, it also sounded like Sherlock on any given evening, so it was a bit hard to tell how bad things were without more details.

'What was it about?'

'Dr's Watson's impending divorce.'

'Ah.'

'Quite.' 

It had been a subject Greg and Mycroft had spoken about in depth since John and Sherlock had finally sorted out how they felt about each other and actually decided to do something about it. But that had been almost two years ago...fuck, it had been years before that if they were all being completely honest about it, but neither of them had actually acted on it until then, and event that had come as a relief to everyone who had been forced to wade through the sexual tension between them until that point.

'Since you spoke with John he had indeed taken steps towards finalising the end of his marriage, however there has been some unforeseen circumstances which my brother did not take well.'

'Such as?'

Mycroft hesitated for a moment before explaining, 'Mrs Watson is defending the divorce petition Dr Watson submitted.'

'Can she do that?' Greg leaned back in his seat, twirling a pen as Mycroft spoke, 'I thought that if someone wanted to divorce you that they could and you don't get a say in it.'

'Under normal circumstances that would be the case, however Mrs Morstan has employed a solicitor who is...shall we say  _sympathetic_ to her previous life and is arguing on the grounds that her divorce would enable extradition.'

And suddenly that at least made sense, but it didn't sit well with Greg.

'Surely being a terrorist and a mass murderer is enough would over rule that? I mean, I'm not a lawyer Myc, but even I know that shooting your husband's best mate is unreasonable behaviour.'

'Yes,' Mycroft's voice was grim, 'Unfortunately sometimes it's a matter of  _who_ you know. Or rather, I suspect, who you threaten.'

Jesus. Greg closed his eyes for a second wishing someone would just put a bullet in that fucking woman and be done with it. How John, who he knew for a fact had once shot a man in defence of Sherlock after only knowing him twenty four hours, had managed to restrain himself for killing her was a bloody miracle. Although, a small voice in the back of his mind traitorously added that his own job would be a lot less complicated if John and Sherlock stopped killing other people. Or committing fraud. Or causing national security risks. Or mouthing off at judges when they were pulled in as witnesses.

'But you can sort it, right?'

'What makes you think I can?' there was the slightest hint of teasing there at their shared knowledge of Mycroft's working life.

'Because you do anything,' Greg replied, like he always did, 'And if you don't then Sherlock will sulk.'

'And none of us want that.'

'Exactly. So?'

'Of course I can sort it, Gregory. However I can't spare the time or resources until I return to London, so for the moment we shall have to endure John's wrath and Sherlock's sulk.'

'You mean  _I'll_ have to enjoy them because you're holed up in some conference pretending that you don't control half of the free world.'

He could just imagine the look on Mycroft's face at that statement.

'One of the Spanish ambassadors is new and seems to be under the impression that I am a secretary,' Mycroft confided, his tone dangerous, 'Any moment now I am certain he will ask me to fetch him some biscuits.'

Greg couldn't have stopped that laugh if his life had depended on it, 'Alright, just try not to hurt anyone.'

'I shall make no promises in that regard.'

'Fine. Will you at least promise me that you'll be careful?'

There was a pause for the briefest of moments and when Mycroft spoke again his voice was slightly softer, 'I shall.'

Greg didn't get a chance to say anything else or question the change in Mycroft's tone before there was a minor flurry of angry activity in the corner of his eye and the tempest in beige that was John Watson was storming across the office.

'Gotta go and deal with a tiny, angry man.'

Mycroft sighed theatrically, 'Seems our afternoons are running in parallel.'

Greg was still laughing when the door opened and John looked in. Greg didn't even wait for him to speak before he was on his feet and reaching for his coat.

 


	20. Chapter 20

Weeks passed.

Greg gradually learned far more than he ever wanted to know about John's divorce, which seemed to amount to Mary doing everything she could to object to it and drag the proceedings out as long as possible, while at the same time seeking to get as much as she could out of John.

'She's wanting half my pension, the house, a cash settlement that she  _knows_ I don't have,  _plus_ she wants me to pay all of her costs. Oh....and get this, she reckons she should get half of our business.'

'What business?' Greg paused in the act of cutting up a sausage to look across the table at John, who's face was thunderous with indignation.

'Exactly!' John sighed, 'She seems to think that Sherlock and I run a business.'

'Oh. Well...you sort of do.'

Glaring down at his food for a second John seemed to be thinking about the situation.

'It's...not really like that. Sherlock takes clients and yeah, okay, sometimes I help out. But it's him they pay, not me. I have a real job, remember.'

'He doesn't pay you?' while Greg wasn't surprised at Sherlock not considering something like that, after all, Sherlock thought money was irrelevant, but for  _John_ to accept that situation was a surprise.

'No. Well, it always just went into the account and I took whatever we needed from it, you know how much Sherlock spends on cabs.'

Greg nodded, all too aware of how Sherlock could be unbelievably lazy and incredibly hyperactive at the same time.

'So now the solicitor is looking into all of that, which is going to cost me more money and take more time, and until Mycroft gets home and helps to sort it out I have no idea where Sherlock is or what he's doing.' John sighed, worry creasing his face, 'He hasn't done a runner like this for ages.'

'He'll be fine,' Greg assured, even though they both knew the trouble Sherlock could get himself into, especially when he was in one of his moods.

'How do I know that? It's been nearly three weeks, Greg!'

And every minute of those weeks showed in the lines on John's face and the shadows under his eyes. Greg desperately wanted to say something to reassure him, but he knew all too well what it was like to worry about someone when you had no idea where they were or when, if they were coming back. Even so, John was his friend and he needed to say something.

'You know what he's like,' Greg said, 'When he does come back he'll just waltz in demanding tea and won't understand why you were worried.'

John managed a weak smile, 'Probably.'

 

#

 

Half and hour later John let himself into the flat and frowned when he found the upper door open. Praying it wasn't a break in, he slowly pushed the door and peered around it, his chest constricting with relief when he came face to face with a familiar coat hanging up beside it. He allowed himself a few deep breaths, relishing the smell of wool and London air that was distinctly Sherlock, before pulling himself together and stepping into the flat.

'Sherlock?' he called, trying to sound casual.

'Kitchen,' came the reply, and John groaned inwardly. He had very strong feelings about Sherlock being in the kitchen unsupervised.

Still, he walked through and told himself to remain calm when he came face to face with the detective sitting at the table, notes spread all over the surface.

'Where have you been?'

Sherlock didn't react, what little attention he had shown when John entered the flat had apparently been diverted back to whatever he was doing.

'Sherlock!'

'Hmm?' Sherlock sounded, but did not look up.

'I asked where you have been.'

'Does it matter?'

'Um, yeah actually, it does!' John's voice rose, 'Three weeks, Sherlock! Three fucking weeks without a word from you. I didn't even know where you were or if you okay or even if you were coming back.'

'Obviously I'm okay,' Sherlock's tone was patronising with an edge of confusion, as if he couldn't understand why a grown man would have worried about such things.

But that was the tone that broke John, and he did what he had always done. He turned on his heel and went out for air.

 

#

 

It was after midnight before John returned, still angry, but a simmer rather than a boil. He hung his coat up and ignored Sherlock, who was sitting in his seat cleaning his precious bloody violin, and went straight to the kitchen to make a desperately needed cup of tea. Frowning when he saw that Sherlock hadn't bothered cleaning up after himself, as per bloody usual, he slammed his mug down harder than he intended to.

Eventually he moved through and settled himself in his armchair, reading quietly, too angry to try and make conversation with Sherlock, who clearly wasn't in the mood for idle chat. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the painstaking precision with which he worked, long fingers caressing the instrument as he devoted his entire attention to it. 

'John,' he said suddenly, without looking up, 'While I was away I had some time to consider our arrangement and I feel that there is something I should say at this stage before we proceed any further.'

It was the way that Sherlock was avoiding looking at him that caused the sudden jolt of alarm. Sherlock never looked directly at anyone when he was dealing with something emotionally difficult, and John was torn between wanting to reassure him over whatever was upsetting him, and worry over what he was going to say. Other people took that gesture as rude, especially when Sherlock said something difficult, but John knew that it was Sherlock's insecurities that caused it. The man struggled with his feelings every day. It had only taken John a few weeks to see that, and he wondered why people who had known him all his life still couldn't see it.

John licked his lips as he waited for Sherlock to go on, knowing that if he spoke now he could prevent Sherlock from saying whatever it was he needed to say.

'As you know I value your friendship, and am often surprised that it has withstood some of the frankly ridiculous challenges over the years, including you marrying...' Sherlock's voice faltered for a split second and a tiny frown appeared between his eyebrows as if he was searching for the right word, '...someone else. Marry someone else and leaving me.'

'Sherlock, we weren't even together then. I didn't know how you felt. Christ, I didn't even realise how  _I_ felt.'

'You're quite right,' Sherlock still didn't lift his head and it was breaking John's heart to watch him, 'We weren't together.'

John sat back a little, relieved at the practical way Sherlock spoke.

'But I thought we were.'

Those words, spoken with a frankness that only made their deeper meaning so much more painful, were like a canon shot to the chest and John gasped for breath as he struggled to find something to respond. It was the single most heartbreaking thing he had ever heard in his life, and probably the biggest confession Sherlock had ever uttered to anyone, and that included the first time he told John he loved him. On his wedding day. When he married someone else.

Closing his eyes against the enormity of what those five words meant, John could only listen as Sherlock carried on speaking in the same calm and measured tone.

'And when you first left Mary I thought we could return to the way things were. But you went back to her, which I didn't account for. And when your relationship finally ended and you moved back here for good and our relationship developed I believed that I was your priority.'

'Of course you are,' John breathed, his voice cracking with the agony.

'And yet most of your friends and indeed you own sister are still under the impression that you are Mary are still happily ensconced in your suburban utopia.'

'Sherlock, I didn't....it's not like I didn't tell people. I just didn't feel the need to justify this to other people. If you want though I'll take out an ad in the Times and wear a placard around my neck. Anything to show people if that's what you need. You know I'll do anything for you.'

Sherlock was looking at him them, his aqua eyes scrutinising every inch of John's face, reading every thought and emotion, and John let him. He never held anything back when it came to Sherlock.

'The fact that it took prompting from both Lestrade and my brother before you even considered a divorce would contradict that statement and suggest that, once again I have been wrong when it comes to matter concerning you. And I dislike being wrong.' the last few words were spoken quietly, more to himself than to John.

'What...what's that supposed to mean?' John forced out, 'Sherlock?'

Sherlock took a few more seconds to consider it before he answered, 'I have considered all of the options and possible outcomes and I can only conclude, based on all previous experiences, that should we allow this to continue then I would continue to be wrong about you...us.'

'...Sherlock?' John felt all at once too hot and too cold as panic coursed through him. He wanted to reach out to the other man but he couldn't move, instead he just sat there as Sherlock continued in the same detached and reasoned voice.

'So we won't be continuing this relationship, John.'

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little catch up with all our boys - not sure if I'll get another update this weekend though.

'No.'

Sherlock blinked at John's response, before his eyes narrowed slightly in confusion.

'John, I don't think you understand-'

'No,  _you_ don't understand,' John leaned forward and pointed his finger at Sherlock, 'If you think that after  _everything_ that has gone on I'm going to sit back and let your waltz off into the sunset without me then you really have another thing coming.'

'John-'

'No!' John raised his voice again, despite his effort to tamp down the anger, 'Not this time, Sherlock. You're not running out on me again.'

'I've never run out on you.'

'You killed yourself!' John roared.

'I thought we'd moved past that?' Sherlock waved his hand dismissively, but John wasn't going to be put off by Sherlock's Holmes and his fucking attitude, not this time.

'I thought we'd moved past a lot of things,' John said, his voice low and strained.

'You're getting rather emotional.'

'And you're going to get a punch in the face if you keep on like this. I can't believe you are trying to pull this stunt again. Now. After everything we have gone through. Everything that I have done for you. And you just want to throw it all back at me like it means nothing?'

'John, I outlined my reasons, and if you look at them I think you'll find they are very self explanatory and it's best that we deal with-'

'Do you want to be with me?' 

Sherlock looked genuinely surprised at the question.

'John-'

'Please, Sherlock,' John shook his head, suddenly exhausted, 'I don't want a rant or waffly explanation, I just want you to answer. The. Fucking. Question.'

The look on Sherlock's face was enough to melt even John's angry heart, and he found that the longer he held the other man's gaze the more he had to fight his own tears. Sherlock, for his part, had never looked so pained or lost as he did at that moment.

'Because if you really don't want me then I'll drop this, I'll go with whatever you say. But only if you don't want me. And don't lie to me Sherlock, not over this. Okay? Just this once, just tell me the truth,' John took a deep breath, 'Do you want me?'

The moment that followed seemed to stretch for hours, until, with the slightest tilt of his head, Sherlock gave John the answer he needed, and suddenly the older man could breathe again, even if Sherlock was still struggling to look at him.

He reached out and gently took hold of one of Sherlock's hands, giving it the barest of squeezes.

'Then we'll be fine, right?'

'You can't seriously believe that we'll just be  _fine,'_ Sherlock sneered, suddenly more like himself again.

John pulled away and headed for the kitchen with a smile, 'Course not, Sherlock.'

His hand hadn't even closed around the kettle when a deep voice followed him out.

'Tea?'

 

#

 

It was nearly four more weeks before Greg and Mycroft saw each other again. Mycroft was in and out of the country, and Greg took two weeks to visit his parents. After a long conversation with Mycroft over the phone, Greg had decided that it was best to tell his parents in person, and to perhaps skip over certain facts. It had gone much better than he expected. His mother had been pleased, before turning a little teary, and kept asking if he thought he could work things out with Mycroft.

'He's so handsome,' his mother sniffed over her fourth glass of wine, 'Elegant.'

'It's not really like that,' Greg wasn't sure if his mother was actually upset or just overwhelmed.

His father, on the other hand, didn't say much at all, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, and the fortnight passed pleasantly. Although he thought his mother was going to launch into another of her sad persuasive talks when she overheard him talking to Mycroft in the garden. But then his mother had taken to Mycroft from their first meeting. His manners, elegance and his perfect French had endeared him to her, even long after Greg and Mycroft split up.

It wasn't until nearly the end of his stay that his father voiced his opinions on the situation.

'Are you sure about this?'

Greg had just nodded, 'Yeah.'

'Okay then.'

And that was the end of that.

Greg returned to London the same day Mycroft flew to Germany, and so it wasn't until Mycroft's return that the pair had a chance to catch up.

With Mycroft's meeting running late, Greg had settled himself in Mycroft's office and was idly reading the paper as he waited for the other man. Someone had arranged for tea to be sent up to him, which he drank while trying to avoid the constant stare of the Queen from the portrait above Mycroft's desk. The other man always claimed it was leftover from the previous occupant, but Greg wasn't buying that for a minute. If anything he usually found Mycroft's devotion to be amusing.

'Ah, Gregory,' Mycroft finally arrived, his briefcase in one hand. He deposited it on the chair before crossing over to the tea tray to pour himself a cup. The action meant that for several seconds he was standing beside Greg, although neither of them had predicted the effect that Mycroft's close proximity would have until Greg, compelled by Mycroft's scent, turned and gently ran his nose across Mycroft's stomach, lightly scenting the other man.

Mycroft froze, his cup in his hands even as Greg shot back away from him.

'Christ, I'm sorry,' Greg put as much distance between himself and the politician as possible. That, he knew from a long career with the Met, was so far from acceptable that it bordered on assault. And he hadn't even thought about it. He'd just reacted to Mycroft's scent and proximity, as he if had a right to, 'I didn't mean to do that. I don't know...I'm sorry.'

For his part Mycroft looked a little dazed, and he seemed to be considering Greg just as intently as he was considering his own feelings on it. There was no scent of distress in the air, just that lingering scent that was Mycroft's own.

'It's fine, Gregory,' Mycroft spoke quietly.

'It's not fine. That was out of line.'

Mycroft carried his cup around to the other side of the desk and set it down before settling himself too.

'I'm lead to believe it's normal.'

There was a pause in the conversation where neither of them needed to state that it was normal for couples, helped stabilize a relationship. But they weren't a couple. And Greg had just acted on instinct. Mycroft would be well within his rights to press charges, a fact that didn't seem to be bothering Mycroft too much at the moment.

'It's fine, Gregory.' he took a sip of his tea, more so he could break eye contact and allow Greg a moment to compose himself again, 'I suppose we have neglected to talk about the parameters for these situations, for which I am just as negligent as you in failing to consider basic biology.'

'What?'

Mycroft sighed and looked up at Greg again, 'It's fine,' he reassured, 'I'm informed it's natural for you to want to do it, and that over time having you close will help keep both of us calm.'

'What do you mean?'

'Gregory, did you listen during any of our doctor's appointments?' Mycroft looked amused.

'Is this about me wanting to smell you?'

Mycroft rolled his yes dramatically, 'That wasn't quite how I was going to put it, but yes, you do appear to have grasped the basic concept. I agree that we should have discussed this prior to it happening, but...here we are.'

It took Greg another second to realise that Mycroft was genuinely okay with it, and he eventually eased himself into the seat opposite him and allowed Mycroft to top up his tea. What Mycroft didn't tell him was that the stress from his meeting and the frustration that had been building up for the last few weeks had gone  with that one simple gesture and far from being unnerved by it, Mycroft would not be opposed to it happening again if it would not impact on their friendship.

'We should probably have some guidelines or something,' Greg said slowly, and Mycroft found himself nodding along.

'Yes. However, don't dwell on it anymore. No one was harmed and...and it was not unpleasant.'

Greg looked at him then, a quick flicker of questioning before he dropped his gaze back to his tea and Mycroft questioned him about his holiday with his parents.


	22. Chapter 22

'She's clearly having an affair with an older man, city worker, owns two small dogs, probably left handed as you can see from.....' But Greg had stopped listening as soon as the door to the sleek black car opened. It Mycroft a little longer than usual to get out, and when he stood up straight Greg could see. Just there, under his expensive coat and impeccable suit, was the small swell of his stomach that, for now, no one else except Greg had noticed. Well, until Sherlock looked up from the corpse he was standing over.

Greg had spent a lot of time over the last week or so thinking about that bump. He'd noticed it when Mycroft had stood up to remove his waistcoat during one of their late evening talks about Sherlock and how to keep him out of prison, and even then he had only noticed it because of the way Mycroft stretched slightly to shrug off his coat and because, well, it was  _right there_ at eye level just two feet away from him. Which was why he was looking for it now.

His obsession with it had hit him quickly and with force that it was all he could not to reach out and touch it. He had a feeling Mycroft wouldn't appreciate that in the slightest, and despite the slow return of their friendship, both were still acutely aware of the limits they had set. Although as Mycroft walked towards them Greg was filled with a sudden urge to grab the man and run his hands all over him.

Flushing at the thought he folded his arms, tucking is hands into his arm pits so he wouldn't give in to that temptation in some fit of madness.

'Detective Inspector,' Mycroft nodded, cordial as always with just the slightest trace of a smile that was only for Greg to see.

'Mr Holmes,' Greg returned, his smile a little more obvious, and his tone clearly attracting the attention of Sherlock, who didn't even look up before he groaned theatrically.

'Must you?'

'Shut up, Sherlock,' John gave the kneeling detective a none-too-gentle kick that threw him off balance.

'Are you here for your brother or my body?' Greg asked.

Beside them John spluttered, not quite concealing a laugh, and Mycroft's face froze. It was only then that Greg realised what he said and he sighed.

'You know what I mean.'

'Oh, he does,' came Sherlock's voice from somewhere by their knees, earning him another prod from John, who turned away and made a great pretence of ignoring the awkward exchange between the two men behind him.

'Actually, it's you I have come to see,' Mycroft motioned for Greg to follow him a few feet away.

Greg had become used to this too since that meeting in Mycroft's office. Sometimes when they encountered each other or met for tea Mycroft hover a little too close in side Greg's personal space that would have made him uncomfortable if had been anyone else. He understood that whatever weird hormone thing was going on, being around Greg helped, and so sometimes when he was particularly worried or stressed, Mycroft made a flimsy excuse to be just a little too close for a few seconds. Not that he'd ever minded Mycroft in his personal space at all, in fact there was a time when he'd very much enjoyed and encouraged it. But that was something else he was trying not to obsess over right now.

After that day Greg had spent more time looking it up on his lunch breaks, which had led to more uncomfortable questions. He had wondered, in dark moments, if  _that_ had been the reason Mycroft had stayed with him last time. But it didn't matter. He brushed that aside to deal with at another time and concentrated on the fact that anything that helped Mycroft helped the baby, and that was the priority.

Baby.

Every time he thought that word there was a flutter of panic mixed with pride and something else that he didn't want to examine too closely.

Fuck, he thought as he all those thoughts raced through his head as he followed Mycroft, he was becoming  _really_ good at avoiding dealing with things.

'Everything alright?' he asked, because it was the first thing he always asked when he saw Mycroft, and they both knew what the code was.

Mycroft nodded calmly, but there was a slight tension around his eyes that made Greg shift just a little closer.

'Yes. However, I just wanted to let you know that the consultant has suggested that given...previous circumstances that it may be better to schedule a cesarean a little earlier than anticipated.'

Greg was immediately on alert, 'Why? Is it...is likely to happen again? It is alright? The...the...' he cast a glance around aware that there were other people within earshot and lowered his voice, '...are you okay?'

For a second Mycroft looked as if he didn't know what to make of Greg's reaction and Greg knew him well enough to know that the other man was storing it away to examine later, in which case there would probably be another awkward conversation about their agreement. But for now Mycroft's express relaxed again.

'There is a small chance. But I just wanted to keep you updated in case this impacts on any plans you might have. We haven't really discussed....'

'Plans?'

'Holidays away, or-'

' _This_ is my fucking plan!' He nodded at Mycroft and they stared at each other for a moment and then Greg snorted and Mycroft took a second to look away, the absurdity of the conversation too much for either of them to be having in such a public place.

'Wait,' Greg realised something Mycroft had said, 'You said your consultant? When were you there?'

'Earlier this afternoon. I go every Thursday, thank God for private healthcare. I can't imagine what normal people do. I would have called but I had some urgent business at Whitehall and this was on the way back.'

'Well that's...that's good.'

Greg didn't know what his stomach sank a little with the disappointment that he wasn't there, or why he was suddenly felt so...unnecessary since Mycroft was obviously managing just fine without him. But this wasn't the time to think about that either.

He said his goodbyes and watched Mycroft retreat, both happy and sad at the same time.

Yes, this was all going to need some more serious thought.


	23. Chapter 23

Later that week as Mycroft went to meet Greg for lunch, he was still thinking about Greg's reaction at the crime scene.

So far no one else had noticed the change in his body, but Greg had stood  _stared_ at him. At it. It had made Mycroft very self conscious to the point where he had wanted to wrap his arms around himself, pulling his coat tight across his stomach. It had taken all of his self control to stop his hands flying automatically to trace the swell of his stomach.

He had spent a long time pondering that reaction. He was not prone to sentimental cradling of his bump, rarely acknowledging it at all. But there had been something in the way Greg looked at him, that surprise and the brief flare of... _something_ in his eyes that made Mycroft feel both proud and protective.  

But what had really stuck with him, especially in quiet moments, was the brief flash of hurt that passed across Greg's face, gone so quickly that Mycroft barely had any time to register it. But because he was Mycroft he saw it, and had a sinking feeling he knew what it meant.

That had  _agreed._ They had sat in that room and agreed all the terms and conditions, all the possible outcomes, the contact, the expectations. And Gregory Lestrade feeling hurt because he wasn't included was  _not_ one of those agreements. Mycroft sighed, he should have known this was a bad idea. That...sentiment would eventually start to creep in and ruin everything. He and Greg were getting along, they were friends, they had agreed on every aspect of this. But now...now Mycroft could see it all unravelling if he wasn't careful, if he wasn't firm.

But in all honesty, he wasn't entirely sure he didn't want it to.

#

Gregory was already seated and waiting for Mycroft, and he flashed a smile as the politician arrived, and was already halfway to his feet to help Mycroft into his seat when Mycroft frowned at him and shook his head. Still smiling but slightly deflated, he dropped back down into his seat and watched as Mycroft removed his coat and eased himself gracefully onto his own chair.

'You're looking well,' he said before he could stop himself. Then he bit his lip as Mycroft coloured slightly at the compliment, and mentally chastised himself for crossing the line yet again.

'As are you,' Mycroft replied graciously, to which Greg snorted, well aware that he looked exhausted and dishevelled after a late night and a long morning outside in the cold.

A waitress arrived and silently slapped two laminated menus on the table between them before disappearing again. Mycroft picked his up and made a great show of studying it carefully.

'You take me to all the best places, Gregory.'

'Well we both know you weren't dating me for my taste in food.' as soon as he said it Greg could have bitten off his own tongue. Across the table Mycroft's face fell slightly and Greg felt like an asshole, 'Sorry, that didn't come out the way....I didn't mean it like that.'

'It's quite alright.'

'I wasn't saying that you were using me or...well, you were...but that's not what I meant....I'm not making this any better, am I?'

Mycroft shook his head, but he was smiling slightly, which Greg took as a sign he was, at least in part, forgiven.

There was a silence as they both returned to studying the slightly sticky menus.

'Is there anything you would recommend?' Mycroft asked.

''Well the black pudd-'

'Preferably something that doesn't come with dysentery.'

Greg laughed, 'Live dangerously, Myc.'

'I live dangerously every day, I have no desire to play Russian Roulette with my food too.'

There was something about that statement that chilled Greg and he lowered his menu, 'That was something I wanted to ask you about actually.'

'Oh?' Mycroft didn't look up from the rather impressive list of items that could be fried to order.

'Yeah, I mean, I know it's none of my business and all, but...well, what about work and stuff? What you do isn't exactly the safest of jobs, is it?'

'Trust me when I say that your job is more dangerous than mine at present.'

'Well, yeah. But that's because I work with Sherlock.'

At this Mycroft smiled again, his cheeks pink, and  _still_ he didn't lift his head, 'Are you concerned for my welfare, Detective Inspector?'

'Course I am. Both of yours.'

At this the smile slipped from Mycroft's face, but his eyes remained firmly on the page in front of him.

'I assure you that...we are in no danger.'

'...Promise?'

'Would I lie to you?'

'Well, yeah!'

At this Mycroft finally looked up and met Greg's outraged expression, which he held for several seconds before they both laughed.

'You're a horrible man, Mycroft.'

'Likewise, Gregory.'

They chatted about other things as they ate, mostly Sherlock and John and John's divorce. Greg pushed his peas around his plate as he speculated on the outcome now that Mycroft was back and able to intervene. Mycroft was watching the action very intently, his sharp eyes following the movement of Greg's fork. Greg watched as Mycroft licked his lips before speaking. 

'I did offer to deal with Ms Morstan but Dr Watson-'

'You cannot kill Mary!'

Mycroft sighed dramatically, 'So people keep telling me.'

Greg was still laughing when he excused himself to the bathroom, such as it was. When he came back he paused halfway back to the table, watching as Mycroft sneakily stole a forkful of gravied peas from Greg's plate. Greg smiled to himself and waited until Mycroft was back paying attention to his own eggs before he rejoined him. There was silence for a few seconds and then Greg couldn't bear it any longer.

'You don't like peas,' he said nonchalantly.

Mycroft frowned, doing a wonderful imitation of a confused man, which only made Greg smile even wider.

'Or gravy.'

There was a flash of guilt that only someone who knew Mycroft so well would spot and Greg laughed.

'I have no idea what you are talking about.' Mycroft was indignant.

Greg reached across the table and wiped his thumb over the corner of Mycroft's mouth, removing the smallest trace of gravy, before licking it off his thumb and enjoying the reaction that drew from Mycroft.

In the seat across from him Mycroft flushed, his eyes darkened and his mouth opened slightly. It was a reaction Greg had not been witness to for a long time.

Smiling again, but more to himself this time, Greg pushed his plate towards Mycroft.

 

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay - real life has been a bit hectic with finalising uni enrollment for my grand and triumphant return to education, and getting very stressed over my real life writing jobs. Still, have some fluff.

Mycroft didn't bother lifting his head when he heard the familiar swift stride and swish of expensive wool that signalled his brother had arrived. Instead he calmly finished typing the email he was working on before closing the laptop and turning his attention to Sherlock, who had flopped dramatically into the seat opposite him.

'Yes?' he enquired.

Sherlock scowled at him for a moment and then turned his attention towards the wall so he wouldn't have to look at Mycroft.

'John won't let me break up with him.'

Frowning, Mycroft wished Gregory was there. He was much better at that sort of thing than Mycroft was.

'I'm sorry, but usually that's considered a good thing in a relationship, is it not?'

At this Sherlock huffed loudly before jumping to his feet.

'Of course it's not a good thing! I'm being held captive by a beige jumper.'

At this Mycroft couldn't hide his smile and instead he ducked his head slightly to give himself a moment to recompose himself.

'I'm afraid I don't understand, Sherlock.'

'No. Of course you don't understand. Why would  _you_ understand?'

Mycroft made one last valiant effort to get to the bottom of Sherlock's distress. He had never been very good at understanding his brother, but he was better than most people. Even better than Dr Watson when it came down to it. Not that he would ever be idiotic enough to voice that in front of either his brother or his small companion.

'Sherlock....may I ask why you want to break up with Dr Watson? I was under the impression that you wanted to be in a relationship with him.'

'Of course I do!' Sherlock snapped, whirling around to face his brother, 'But unless I put a stop to this now then it's all going to get out of hand.'

'What do you mean?'

'Feelings, Mycroft!' Sherlock practically spat the word.

'Feelings?'

'Yes! They're clouding my judgement. And John...John doesn't have the same...same.'

Mycroft nodded slowly, his brother's distress finally starting to make sense, 'You think John doesn't have feelings for you?'

Sherlock stared at his brother for a long moment, and when he spoke his voice was calmer, but there was still a slightly manic edge to it that concerned Mycroft.

'They aren't the same.'

'Are you sure about that? You've been wrong about John before.'

A brief flash of anguish passed Sherlock's face, 'What if I'm right this time?'

'Then I think we shall all be surprised.'

Sherlock bit his lip as he thought over Mycroft's words, but the worry was still there, and Mycroft knew that what he was seeing was only the very tip of Sherlock's anxiety. His brother would never have come to him about this unless it was really upsetting him.

'Sherlock, what are you afraid of?'

When Sherlock didn't answer immediately, Mycroft pushed on.

'Are you worried about John? That it might not work out?'

From the way Sherlock flinched it was obvious that Mycroft had hit a nerve.

'I don't want to get emotionally invested in this only to end up on my own, pining for someone who doesn't want me.'

'Sherlock that's not going to happen.'

'It happened to you.'

If Sherlock realised he'd gone too far he didn't show it, instead he sighed and turned away, striding out the room without another word, leaving Mycroft alone behind his desk.

#

'Oh God, what did he he do now?' Greg sighed and ran a hand across his face.

Mycroft leaned back in his chair and smiled at the theatrics.

'I have no idea to whom you are referring.'

'That bastard brother of yours. What did he do?'

'What makes you think he did anything?'

'Because you get that look like you just want to murder him, but it's not worth the time your mum would make you spend on the naught step.'

Greg looked down at the remains of Mycroft's lunch and raised his eyebrows.

'What's that?'

'A wholly unsatisfactory luncheon,' Mycroft tried to sound haughty but the effect was undone slightly by the shade of pink he had turned.

Greg examined the plate more carefully, his face breaking into a teasing smile, 'Is this supposed to be peas and gravy?'

Mycroft pursed his lips and refused to answer.

'It looks disgusting.'

'It's from the Diogenes kitchens.'

'I told you years ago their gravy was shit.'

'It's a five star-'

'It's shit,' Greg laughed.

'I'll admit it was not exactly what I had hoped for,' Mycroft sniffed before turning the subject away from his lunch as if embarrassed to admit anything so uncivilised as pregnancy cravings, but there was no hiding from Greg, who seemed to find the whole thing hilarious.

Mycroft was also loathe to talk to him about Sherlock's earlier statements. He wasn't lonely. In fact, he had everything he wanted. And he'd almost convinced himself of that by the time it came it leave the office for the day and he was greeted by a Anthea carrying a bag at arms length which she passed to Mycroft.

'Courier just dropped this off for you.'

Mycroft frowned at it, but Anthea spoke before he did.

'Came straight from Detective Inspector Lestrade, he called to tell me it was coming. But I had it checked anyway.'

Curious, Mycroft took the bag from her and retreated back to his office with it, unaware of the amused smile Anthea was wearing as she sat back behind her own desk again.

Inside the bag were two brightly coloured tins of peas and a cardboard tub of something called 'gravy granules.' Mycroft stared at them for a long time, before carefully putting them back in the bag and carrying it out to his waiting car.

He waited until he was seated in the back of his car before calling Greg, who answered on the first ring.

'I just received your gift. It was most kind of you.'

'Yeah well, just don't eat them all at once.'

'Do peas have a toxic element I was previously unaware of?'

'Nah, but they'll make you fart.'

'I don't.,..do that.'

'Oh, you do.'

'I most certainly do not!'

'Try telling that to someone who wasn't woken by the smell in the middle of the night.'

'Gregory!'

'More than once I might add. That night after we went to that Malaysian place I thought you were trying to gas me.'

If it had been anyone else Mycroft would have been angry or offended. Only Greg ever spoke to him like that and got away with it. Which had been one of the reasons they had managed to stay friends after everything. Mycroft allowed himself a smile, knowing that no one else could see it.

'Yes, well on that occasion you may have been right about the chickpeas.'

Greg's answering laugh stayed with him for the rest of the night.


	25. Chapter 25

'Mary has agreed to the divorce terms!'

'Good morning to you too, Gregory.'

'Funny though, because she was adamant about the money and I know for a fact that John didn't have it.'

'Hmm. Who can tell?'

Greg sat down opposite Mycroft and leaned across the desk between them.

'You can. What did you do, Myc?' he sighed, 'You paid her off, didn't you? I thought we talked about this. You weren't supposed to-'

'Kill her? I didn't. I simply used available resources to ensure a positive resolution to the predicament.'

Greg said nothing for a moment as he watched Mycroft calmly finish making notes on the document in front of him.

'John wouldn't agree to that.'

'Which is why Dr Watson does not know. And I would prefer to keep it that way.'

'How...?'

'The soon-to-be-ex Mrs Watson will be paid a cash settlement. Dr Watson, as far as he is aware, will be paying that off in installments for the next ten years.'

'But he won't be, will he?'

Mycroft squirmed slightly in his seat, 'The payments he believes he is making to Mrs Watson will be redeposited into the joint account he shares with my brother as a rates rebate.'

'How did you manage that?'

Mycroft smirked at him, 'I know people who know people.'

'Who don't ask questions, right?' Greg laughed, leaning back in his chair, 'But do you really think John won't notice?'

'I've been depositing into their account for years under various names. I....I consider it a small token for all the work Dr Watson puts into looking after Sherlock.'

'You don't have to pay him for loving your brother, Myc.'

'No. But Sherlock does have a tendency to leave Dr Watson to pay the cab fare and, well... everything.'

Greg laughed again, 'True,' he conceded, then he tilted his head towards the documents on Mycroft's desk, 'What are you working on?'

'Oh,' Mycroft sighed, 'Just the outline of the regime to dispense of the monarchy.'

It was said so flippantly that anyone else might have have laughed, but Greg knew Mycroft, and he knew what the man was capable of.

'Seriously?'

'Hmm. Quite.'

'You want to get rid of the Royal family?'

'They do cost an awful lot of money. What's that term you use, ah yes...benefit scroungers. That's the one. They are the countries biggest benefit scroungers.' Mycroft made air quotes and a distasteful expression.

'That;s.....wow.' Greg ran a hand through his hair, 'But...what about all those lovely castles and things?'

'Gregory,' Mycroft set his pen down, 'I rather think that if one wants to live in a castle then one should be able to pay for it oneself.'

'That's a lot of 'ones' in one sentence.'

Mycroft smiled, 'Perhaps.'

'But I thought you liked...her.' Even after all these years, and even having lunch with the lady herself once, Greg was still unsure what terminology to use.

'Oh I do. Lizzie is a charming girl. But honestly, Gregory, there is no room for a monarchy in a modern democracy.'

Greg thought for a moment before answering.

'But they symbolize a lot.'

'Yes. Perhaps. But perhaps not. It's all relative isn't it?'

'And...does she know?'

'Oh yes, we've had lots of chats about it over the years.'

'Right.' Greg looked hard at Mycroft, once again full of wonder at the power and responsibility that this man held with such ease and grace, and wondering, not for the first time, what Mycroft had ever wanted him for, 'So...votes for all, yeah?'

'Of course not, Gregory. Don't be ridiculous. We couldn't allow the  _public_  to make those decisions.'

'But everyone gets to vote. I mean, that's what democracy is. It's why I've had to queue outside a polling station for an hour every couple of years and get endless leaflets through my door about candidates.'

Mycroft shrugged, 'It helps maintain the front. In truth none of it matters. It's...providing jobs I suppose.'

'So my vote has never mattered? Is that what you are saying?'

'In a way,' Mycroft frowned slightly, 'Although I have always taken your opinions into consideration.'

'What? What does that mean? Who actually runs things?'

'Well....I do.'

Greg had nothing to say to that. Truth was, he'd suspected that for a long time, but actually hearing Mycroft say it aloud was something completely different. He looked at the man across the desk, his best friend, former lover, immaculate, calm, serious, soft voiced...and growing larger every day with  _his_ child. For a split second he wondered if he even knew Mycroft at all. But that was immediately replaced by the realization that not one thing Mycroft had just said had surprised him, instead he could feel his smile growing and he just gave in and shook his head.

'You're...fuck it. I don't even have words for what you are. Amazing, unbelievable.' And incredibly sexy his mind supplied but he stopped just before he could blurt that out. They didn't need that complication. Not now. Not now they were friends again. And certainly not with everything else that was happening. 

'So,' Greg said as a nameless assistant deposited a tea tray on the edge of the desk, 'What have I ever influenced then?'

'Well,' Mycroft glanced up from his scone for a second, 'Do you remember that talk we had about Blair....?'

#

'I didn't expect to see you this afternoon, sir.'

'Nor did I expect to be here, Detective Inspector.' Mycroft glanced over the taped of street, 'Is this likely to be long engagement?'

Greg shrugged, 'Maybe. Not a mark on the body. No bruises or signs of struggle and he was sitting in his armchair like he'd just dropped off for a kip.'

Mycroft tapped his umbrella, 'Should give Sherlock something to think about for an hour or so.'

'But you're opinion...?'

Mycroft made a great show of looking off into the distance like he was still trying to work it out, before he turned back to Greg, 'Sixty four year old, obese, history of diabetes and cardiac issues in the family. Not really an issue for Scotland Yard.'

'But the flat was broken into-'

'Opportunist who discovered the body.'

'Oh for fuck sake!'

'Eloquent.'

'So why is it taking your bloody brother so long to- Jesus, are you alright? You look-Can I get some help here!'

 


	26. Chapter 26

Greg Lestrade paced the corridor at the end of the ward waiting, impatiently, for news. Two of Mycroft's black-clad assistants were sitting quietly, having arrived twenty minutes after they had. John, who had followed in a cab, had taken Sherlock for a sandwich with just a squeeze of Greg's shoulder on the way that said more than any words could.

'Mr Holmes?'

The nurse asked, scanning the waiting group. When no one answered she frowned, looked back down at her clipboard and then asked again.

'Is there a Mr Holmes? Partner of an.,..M Holmes.'

'That's me!' Greg was on his feet and pushing past Anthea before the nurse had even finished speaking.

'Can you come with me?'

Greg followed her along the corridor, trying to keep up with her efficient, rapid step.

'Is he okay?'

The nurse didn't respond as she rounded the corner and pulled back a curtain to let Greg into a small room.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. Mycroft, Mycroft fucking Holmes, the most powerful man in the world, was crouched over, scratching his arms, struggling to breathe and trembling from the sheer exhaustion of being alive. The doctor opposite Mycroft looked up[ as Greg entered, but before she ad a chance to speak, Greg was already on his knees, wrapping Mycroft in his arms, burying his face in Mycroft's neck.

The response was almost instantaneous. Mycroft's entire body went limp, leaning back into Greg's support, even though Mycroft himself seemed only semi- aware of what was happening.

'Myc?'

The only response he got was Mycroft turning his head slightly and pressing his nose against Greg's neck. Greg looked past him to the doctor, who was watching everything.

'Is he okay?' Greg asked, even though it was nothing more than a whisper.

She nodded, glanced at her notes and then gave him what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile.

'And...'

'Okay.' she bit her lip before speaking again, 'His blood sugar was low, and his heart rate elevated. Given his recent panic attacks, bleeds, and withrawl from his medication, added to an absent partner an being an older parent with history of complications-'

''I need to talk to Myc. Alone.'

The young doctor glanced at Mycroft, who was still in not state to talk, and then she looked at Greg's expression.

'Okay, sir.'

As she left, Greg manhandled Mycroft onto the bed, keeping hold of him the whole time, As he settled into the chair beside the bed, Mycroft stirred enough to focus on him.

'Is it...?'

Greg lifted the hand he had clasped and kissed the knuckles once.

'It's okay.'

'Really?'

'Yeah,' he said, even though he already had a long list of things he wanted to talk about when Mycroft was able, 'It's fine. Just sleep. We'll talk about it alter.'


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arghhh! Don't hurt me - I love you all. I can't believe the response the last few chapters have had - I love each and every one of you and you have been a light in the dark at times. Even at my very lowest, when I felt the whole world hated me and I had nothing to offer, I have always had support here. It's kept me going over the last two years and it means so much when, after the shittiest day of the shittiest year I log on here and someone has left a message or given kudos. Every single one of you guys are amazing, and this is the single most supportive, encouraging and accepting community. Long may it stay that way. Love, etc, a slightly emotional, Cla

Mycroft slept through the night, an IV in one arm to keep him hydrated and supply him withe the nutrients he apparently needed, and a nurse checking in every hour. He;d had a monitor attached to his stomach which printed out a graph of every time the baby moved. When the doctor had gone to remove it Greg had asked them to leave it. Despite all the reassurances of the nurses and doctors, and even John, who's opinion he trusted more than most, Greg had found that he  _needed_ to hear the the soft rustle of paper as the little printer produced another blip in the bar to show the baby had moved. Even though he knew that, eventually, it wouldn't be his, and he'd made his peace with that, he just couldn't bear Mycroft to suffer another loss.

There were things they needed to talk about. Greg had read Mycroft's chart, and although he hadn't understood some of the terms straight away, a quick search on his phone was enough to enlighten him. 

And he was angry.

From his own research, the notes he could get hold of and a brief, but forceful chat with a reluctant doctor, Greg had spent most of the passing hours piecing together the last few months of Mycroft's life. A severe bleed early on, followed by occasional lighter ones that Greg now realised were a major factor in Mycroft's weekly appointments. He'd known for years that Mycroft took medication to treat anxiety, but he didn't know Mycroft had been weaning himself off it and honestly, if truth be told, Greg hadn't given that whole aspect of Mycroft's health a second thought since Mycroft started to cut back on his hours and seemed to be taking more care of himself, but that too was clearly a crap shoot. Mycroft had always been careful about what he ate, too careful sometimes, to the point of recklessness. But this wasn't just about Mycroft anymore, and it angered Greg to the point where he snapped at Anthea when she stopped to check in.

'Did you know he wasn't eating?' he demanded.

Anthea's eyes opened wide, 'I take him his lunch every day.'

'Well from now on there's no more fucking kale and spinach soups. I don't care if you have to sprinkle sugar into his cucumber sandwich or just hold him down and inject it into him, but we're not letting this happen again, right?'

Anthea looked from Greg to her boss, pale and sleeping, the concern clear on her beautiful face.

'Right,' was all she said.

She lingered for a few minutes longer, casting her eyes over the charts and readings, checking Mycroft for herself. Greg didn't mind. In all the years he had known Mycroft he had known that Anthea was there, looking after every aspect of his life. Quiet, professional, always in the background, but always observing. She could be a moody cow when she wanted, but first and foremost in her mind every hour of every day was Mycroft. And Greg knew how that felt.

'Are you staying?' she asked as she made to leave, 'Or should I?'

'I'll stay,' Greg had rasped, still clutching Mycroft's hand.

Anthea took one last look at her boss and then nodded to Greg before leaving. Which was the highest validation she could give to anyone. Greg sometimes had issues with Anthea, but he trusted her and her judgement, and he knew she would never leave Mycroft alone with anyone if she thought it was a bad idea.

Greg pulled the blanket higher over Mycroft's chest with his free hand and sighed.

'We are going to have words tomorrow.'

 

#

 

'You sure?' John sounded tired on the other end of the line, that may have been due to it being five am, or it could just have been because he lived with Sherlock.

'I'm sure. Pack some jeans and shirts and my work stuff and my laptop and.....fuck it. Just pack what you think I'll need.'

'I don't have a key for Mycroft's though.'

'No, but you have a Sherlock, so you won't have trouble getting in, will you?'

John made a sound halfway between a protest and a laugh, 'Fair enough. You need anything else sorted?'

Greg cast a glance across the room to where Mycroft was still sleeping, 'No, I've already called the yard to tell them I won't be in for a few days and Anthea's dealing with everything on Myc's side.'

'And how is he? Any news?'

'Not much else really. He's breathing and sleeping and the little one has been pretty active. There's enough print out of the movements to paper a room.'

'I'll call in later. But with any luck he'll get home today anyway.'

'Yeah. Which is why you need to move my things over. I'm not leaving him alone until I know he's alright.'

 

#

 

'You're a fucking dickhead, do you know that?'

Mycroft blinked at the anger in Greg's voice, opened his mouth once or twice, and then sighed and closed his eyes again.

'I had it all under control.'

'You didn't tell me'

'You didn't need to know.'

'I didn't need to know? This is your fucking health, your life, our babies life, so don't you dare tell me I didn't need to know.'

Mycroft opened his eyes again, taking in the wretched expression, crumpled, unshaven appearance of his best friend.

'I....Gregory-'

'No!' Greg pointed at him, and for a moment they held glares across the room, and then Greg crossed in two stepped and dropped into the seat beside Mycroft, snatching his hand up and holding it in both of his as he spoke.

'Look,' Greg said, 'It's not my business, okay, I get that. I....I offered to do this because you are my best friend. I would do anything for you. And this is the thing you wanted most in the world, and I was able to give it to you, so I did. And I know th rules, I know we have an agreement. But...but you need to start looking after yourself Myc. And you need to  _tell me_ when things happen. And it's not because I'm trying to break that contract. I  _know_ that this is  _your_ child. But...I worry about  _you.'_

For a long second Mycroft couldn't breathe. He wanted to snatch his hand away and order Greg to leave. But no one had ever professed such feeling for him before, and he only recognised the depth of that statement because that was how he felt about Sherlock. He covered Greg's hand with his free one.

'Gregory....'

'It's fine.' Greg snapped, lifting his head up and taking a breath, 'It's done. But I swear to god if you ever keep something like this from me again......I don't know what I'll do, but I'll get arrested for it.'

Mycroft's stormy eyes widened, but then softened when he read Greg's expression.

'I didn't know.'

Greg's grip on Mycroft;s hand grew slack and for a moment Mycroft thought he had overstepped, but then Greg's fingers tightened around his once again, with a renewed determination.

'Neither did I.'

They shared a shy smile before Greg coughed self consciously.

'Is it a good time to mention I'm moving into your house?'

 


	28. Chapter 28

'Gregory I'm not quite sure I understand.'

'Did you hit your head on your way down?' Greg snapped, and Mycroft at least had the decency to look suitably chastised, which was enough to soften Greg slightly, but only slightly, 'You have a hormonal need to come sniff me, but I know you do it every time you really need to. And not taking your tablets? That's just fucking stupid.'

'I didn't want to hurt the baby.'

'Well have them changed, don't just stop! So now you're back having panic attacks, you collapsed and to top it all off you're now in a hospital bed having a withdrawl. Are you that fucking stupid, Mycroft?' Greg sighed, 'So you need someone to keep an eye on you, because you clearly aren't doing it yourself. A week or two until you're back on your feet. I've already John John and your brother taking some of my things to one of your spare rooms.'

'That wasn't a terribly intelligent thing to do.'

'Don't start.'

'I simply meant that their is a strong possibility that you will arrive to find they have only provided you with a Batman costume and filled your laptop with an interesting selection of pornography.'

'Well, I suppose it'll give me something to watch while you're asleep.'

Mycroft pretened to look disgusted, and Greg almost softened.

'In all seriousness, Myc. I...I don't even know what to say. How can a smart man be so stupid?'

Mycroft didn't respond, but the pained look on his face was enough to make Greg lean forward.

'It's just for a little, to make sure you really are okay.....Myc, this is a huge thing, are you really sure you are ready for this?'

'What do you-?'

'What I mean,' Greg said loudly, cutting him off, 'Is that you've been going out of your way to be healthy, to the point of deprivation. You...you're not even taking your medication. You're hurting yourself.'

Mycroft's eyes narrowed and something of his old spirit was back, ''I can assure you that, regardless of  _what_ my brother may have said to you, I have been doing no such thing. To even suggest-'

'I didn't say anything about Sherlock,' Greg sighed, 'Look. I'm not a doctor, okay, and we both know that sometimes I'm not all that bright. But, and this is only my thoughts on it...I think that you're trying to do all of this to...to stop what happened before.'

And that finally silenced Mycroft, who lowered his eyes. Greg reached forward and took his hand.

'You know that you didn't do anything wrong then. Myc? Look at me.' When Mycroft eventually lifted his head and met Greg's gaze, 'What happened didn't happen because you ate too many sweets, or you took your tablets. It...just...happened.' He lifted Mycroft's hand almost all the way to his face, but he didn't kiss it this time, instead he just started at Mycroft until the other man, who hadn't broke gaze with him since he finally looked at him, nodded very slowly, his own long finger tightening briefly around Greg's for the small reassurance he would find there.

'Well said young man!' A sharp finger prodded him in the shoulder and he looked up to see Mycroft's mother staring down at them both. She jerked her head sideways, indicating that he should vacate the chair, which Greg did reluctantly.

With sharp exhale of breath Mrs Holmes dropped into the seat, 'Now it's my turn.'


	29. Chapter 29

Greg found the person he was seeking further down the hallway, standing upright, immaculate dickie bow in place, hands in the pocket of his cardigan, reading a poster about thrush.

'Mr Holmes.'

The tall, grey haired, very elderly, but surprisingly youthful man immediately snapped around with a smile.

'Oh, thank goodness. People were starting to  _stare._ Tea?'

Greg reeled back, but recovered quickly, 'Yeah. Why not.'

'Oh. Plenty of reasons why not,' Siger Holmes said as he walked beside Greg, ' I was in India during the war - a chap can find a lot of reasons for not wanting tea.'

Greg faltered for a step, but hurried to catch up with the elder Holmes who had paused at the end of the corridor.

'Any idea which was we go?' he asked, turning his head to look at the 'helpful' markings on the floor.

'This way,' Greg nodded, 'Although the tea is shit.'

'I don't suppose they serve gin?'

Greg shook his head.

'Ah well.' Siger suddenly looked down at Greg, 'Mycie doesn't seem happy.'

'I...well, he is in hospital.'

Siger handed over a fifty for two teas and waved at the give to keep the rest before steering Greg by the elbow of his greatcoat to a corner table.

'That's not what I mean, Gregory.'

Greg peeled the top off his coffee and looked across the for the sugar.

'He's....Look,' Greg squinted across the table, 'About Myc...'

'Oh, I know you aren't together.' Siger shrugged, 'It happens.' Then he flashed a smile, 'Happens twice for you.'

Greg closed his eyes, and closed his hand on the UHT milk carton so hard it bit into his palm and was in serious danger of exploding. Before he could speak, Siger seemed to realise.

'That's not what you meant though?'

Greg shook his head, willing his fist to loosen.

Siger looked out the window for a while, a faint, faraway look on his face.

'Mycroft has always been a rather sensitive person.' Siger puffed out his breath, 'Both of them are really. But while Sherlock ......explodes it. Mycroft has always been so....'

'Controlled?'

In a flash Siger whipped around to look at him, leaning in further to study him. And in that instant he saw Sherlock, and his ability to read people. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he did, Siger closed his, stirred his sepid tea and then turned to look at Greg.

'There was a time Mycroft didn't cope so well. At school.'

'He wasn't bullied at school. He said-'

'Oh god no! He wasn't bullied. It's hard to bully someone who can rip your spleen out with his hands. But....Mycroft struggled.' Siger looked uncomfortable, ' He was an agile boy but.. large. And when he came home at summer he would indulge.' Siger shrugged, 'Dinner, pudding....we didn't think....it was different to school. There he was fencing, riding, boxing, doing gymnastics. At home he just sat in room and read and....well, tried to avoid Sherlock at that stage.'

The silence stretched on for a long, long time.

'Myc did all that? He can ride a horse?'

Siger glanced up sharply, took in Greg's awe and immediately softened, 'Mycie can do many things.'

But Greg wasn't a DI for nothing. He took in the stance of teh Eldest Holmes, the way he was suddenly focused on his tea, and he frowned. This was their child, and he was having their grandchild, and if there was something Greg needed to know....

'What happened?'

'Pardon?' Siger looked calmly.

Greg pushed himself away from the seat, loomed over and moved behind Siger Holmes.

'What...Happened?'

'I don't-

'I swear to god,' Greg said leaning over his shoulder, 'I will hurt you if you don't answer.'

'Okay.'

Greg was reluctant to let go, 'Okay?'

'Okay.' Siger indicated towards his cooling cup.

Reluctantly Greg let go and then sat back down opposite the other man, who was looking down into his cold tea like it held the answers.

'Mycie worked hard,' Greg allowed a small of pride, 'He trained hard, academically, physically...he  rowed for Oxford - did he tell you that?'

Greg shook his head before quietly answering, 'No.'

Siger smiled, 'Olympic contender. And a Double first. Maths and Philosophy.' he paused then, almost embarrassed, 'But then he discovered politics.'

'HE IS AMAZING!'

Greg didn't even care that he'd shouted.'

'.....yes.'

And that was  tone to turn a seasoned officer to consider another motive. Before he even spoke, Siger sighed,

'It was hard to keep to the diets out of training,'

'What?'

'Hard to stay....in shape when......' Siger sighed, 'We din't think. We lived four miles from a telephone. Two miles from a main road. His closest gym was at school which was..'

'I get it.'

Greg wished he didn't but he did.

'How long for?' he asked into his tea.

'Too long.'


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter that#s not really relevant to anything, but this idea came up in conversation yesterday and I haven't been able to shake it.

Mycroft Holmes owned two cats. Or was owned by two cats, which was probably a more accurate description. The first one had just appeared one day, a skinny, black and white, opportunist. She had let herself in through an open window and sauntered around as if she owned the place. Which she more or less did now. Mycroft had done all he could to chase her off and dissuade her from coming back, but day after day he would find her stretched out in a sunny spot and then spend the next hour trying to work out how she got in this time. Several weeks after her first appearance she interrupted Mycroft's teleconference with Brussels to give birth on the two hundred year old Persian rug, producing just one, tiny, scrawny black kitten.

She'd looked at Mycroft in shock and he'd paused mid-sentence to stare back, before remembering himself and apologizing.

'My cat has just gone into labour,' he'd told the Swiss ambassador. And so that's what she became, His Cat.

He'd had the rug cleaned and after a check up from the vet, who seemed surprised to be making a house call but didn't question it too much when he was offered twice his usual fee, Mycroft finally relented and accepted that he was now the owner of two cats.

They didn't have names.

'They're cats, Gregory, they don't need names,' Mycroft had sighed when questioned.

Privately Greg referred them as Little Bastard One and Little Bastard Two.

They hated anyone who wasn't Mycroft, and in all the years that Greg had been visiting the house, they still refused to take food from him. He'd once, in an act of extravagant impulsiveness, cut up the remainder of his venison steak for them. It was still in their dish the next day, ignored by the cats who's suspicious eyes narrowed at him as he passed. By contrast they would lick marmite off Mycroft's fingers.

Mycroft liked to consider himself a hands off animal person, and so, while he would never harm the cats, and he would see to their comfort and needs, he wasn't going to start petting them or playing with them.

Which is why Greg smiled when he put his head around the door to check on Mycroft the day he got home.

Mycroft was fast asleep, a mixture of hormones, emotional exhaustion and a hearty dose of sedative coursing through him. The two cats were spread out on the remaining space at the bottom on the bed. And Little Bastard Two lifted her head to blink slowly at Greg, staring him down until he left. But not before snapping a quick picture with his phone.

#

With Mycroft asleep and settled, and his conversation with Siger still fresh in his mind, Greg headed to the kitchen. Half an hour later he was placing an online order to Tesco and looking up meal plans suitable for pregnancy.

He'd already had a quiet word with John. He hadn't told him what Siger had said, but if Sherlock knew, and of course he would know, then that meant John would know too. But even so, it wasn't Greg's place to tell that secret, so he'd just had a casual conversation about what Mycroft would need now.

'Sleep,' was the first word out of John's mouth,  even as they both laughed at the motions of a Holmes sleeping, 'He'll sleep a lot. And eat. So try to make sure he eats something healthy.'

John had also recommended some vitamin supplements which were now well stocked in both of the bathrooms of Mycroft's large house.

He'd checked in with Anthea, who had feigned nonchalance, which was somehow reassuring in a way.

And then he sat back, ran a hand through his hair and wondered what the fuck happened now.


	31. Chapter 31

'Gregory?'

Greg blinked in the sudden light from the doorway where Mycroft was standing, pale and nervous.

'Yeah?' he rasped, 'What's-? Jesus Myc, come here.'

Without thinking he pulled the cover back, shifting across the bed to the cooler side. There was a moments hesitation before the edge of the bed dipped as Mycroft climbed in, careful to keep his distance.

'Christ you're shaking!' Greg made to sit up, suddenly concerned, but Mycroft stopped him, 'I think I should call-'

'I'm fine. I just....'

As he watched the embarrassment on Mycroft's face, all Greg could do was sigh and lie back down again. 

'Go to sleep, Myc,' he said softly.

He listened to Mycroft's breathing as it gradually slowed and evened out, Mycroft inhaling Greg's scent from the warm pillow. He didn't allow himself to drift off again until Mycroft stopped shaking, and even then it was an uneasy sleep, broken by a constant need to check on Mycroft.

#

Greg knew Mycroft was awake when Little Bastard One came padding down the stairs and out to the kitchen., pausing only to throw a disdainful look in Greg's direction. A moment later there was the soft tread of Mycroft's step as he made his way downstairs.

He still looked exhausted, pale with shadows under his eyes, and hadn't bothered to change out of the old pyjama bottoms and t shirt he'd slept in. He looked surprised, but relieved to see Greg sitting in the kitchen.

'I thought you'd gone.'

'Nope,' Greg turned a page of the newspaper, 'I told you, I'm here until you take care of yourself.'

'That's really unnecessary.'

'I would argue that it's completely necessarily. That said, I would like to apologise for last night and my intrusion.'

'It's fine, Myc. Honestly. I didn't mind.'

And he hadn't. The only thing he'd minded was that they woke up at opposite edges of the bed and not tangled around each other like his arms and legs wanted to. He'd left as soon as he'd been awake, not wanting to make things awkward, but not wanting to be too far away either.

He could feel Mycroft's glare on the back of his neck, but it only made him smile.

'You want some tea?'

'Is it that insipid herbal disgrace my mother sent over?'

'Nope. It's Tetley.'

Greg poured him a cup while Mycroft settled himself at the table.

'How are you feeling today?' he asked.

Mycroft nodded, 'Better. Thank you.'

'And...the little one?'

Mycroft seemed to consider this for a second, one hand stretching across his bump before he answered, 'She's fine. Active.'

A strange mix of emotions crossed Greg's face as he watched Mycroft, and for a moment the politician was alarmed, unsure if he had said something wrong. But then he smiled.

'She?'

Mycroft nodded.

'You know it's a girl?'

Mycroft nodded again, which seemed to animate Greg.

'When did you find out?' he asked, but underneath it was clear the real question was 'why didn't you tell me.'

'A few weeks.'

Mycroft watched Greg try to feign nonchalance as he worked through his own emotions, and suddenly Mycroft saw, really saw for the first time, how Greg felt about this. His determination to be what Mycroft wanted him to, the distance he put between himself and the baby, all the walls he constructed to separate them. All because it's what he thought Mycroft wanted. And suddenly, for the first time since they had embarked on this agreement, Mycroft felt selfish.

'Gregory?'

Greg looked up from his tea.

'Would you consider coming with me next week? To my appointment, I mean. Well, if you can't then that's-'

'Yeah. I'd like that.'

'Really?'

Greg nodded, not even trying to his his smile, 'Yeah.'


	32. Chapter 32

Six days later, or six nights to be more exact, and well, more to the point, Mycroft seemed calmer. He was still pale, and he was still sleeping more than Greg had ever known him to sleep - quite a lot of which he was doing in Greg's bed.

Which meant that Greg wasn't getting much sleep as he made sure to keep his distance and keep his hands to himself, terrified that if he rolled over in his sleep and wrapped an arm around Mycroft that the politician would have him shot. He needed to keep to their established boundaries, which even he knew was ridiculous when the person sleeping in his bed was pregnant with his child.

It wasn't a coconscious decision, it just sort of evolved after that first night. Greg had grown used to Mycroft seeking him out, just to be close, and although it was a little unnerving the first time he turned around to find Mycroft standing right behind him, looking embarrassed, he understood. So now he was a bit more aware of his surroundings, and when he was sitting on the sofa reading or watching TV he always left space beside him, and made sure there were extra cushions there. Mycroft never said anything about it, and sometimes would hover for long moments, like a frightened animal before he would approach and nervously settle beside Greg.

The second night that Mycroft came to his room, Greg was almost expecting it. He'd been sprawled on his stomach on the far side of the bed, and when he heard the tentative knock and the creak of the door he'd just patted the cool sheets beside him without even lifting his head.

After the third time they simply stopped going to bed in different rooms when Mycroft was drifting off in front of his laptop and Greg steered him upstairs and into the spare room with him, helping him kick off his shoes before settling him into bed.

Greg had woken up only once in a position he felt uncomfortable with. Well, uncomfortable given the circumstances. Some time in the night he'd rolled over and was facing Mycroft, who'd pressed his face against Greg's shoulder, breathing deeply and steadily, Greg's arm slung loosely around Mycroft's hips. And it had been....nice.

And Greg knew he couldn't let it happen again.

So they continued with their dance, moments of being practically pressed together that calmed Mycroft, interspersed with bickering about food.

'I cannot drink anything that shade of orange!'

'It's Fanta, Myc.'

And:

'What the fuck is that?'

'Kale.'

'Well unless you fried it in butter and bacon grease you need to eat more than that.'

But in general they...rubbed along, much as they always had.

#

Whatever Greg had expected when he arrived at the clinic with Mycroft, he had barely come close. He knew that Mycroft would have booked himself into the most exclusive place possible, but he hadn't expected  _this._ There were no other patients to be seen as they were ushered quietly to a private waiting room. Their wait was short and a young doctor appeared with a smile.

'Mr Holmes!' she beamed.

Mycroft nodded at her, and she then turned her attention to Greg.

'And is this Dad?'

Mycroft ducked his head in embarrassment, but said nothing. Greg introduced himself, handshakes and pleasantries were involved and then they were being led to a small, dark room with a host of machinery that Greg didn't understand.

Mycroft had said very little about the baby in the last week, and hadn't mentioned this appointment again, so Greg had started to have a small flutter of apprehension that the other hand had forgotten. But this was Mycroft Holmes. He remembered everything.

'Okay, now let's check you over and then are we having a look this week?' she glanced from Greg to Mycroft. Greg frowned, not sure what she meant, but Mycroft nodded, 'Alright then, jacket and shoes off and then pop up on the scales for me.'

Mycroft shot Greg a look that clearly said he wasn't allowed to look at the needle, but Greg did anyway.

As she took Mycroft's blood pressure the doctor chatted amicably and it was clear from her familiar tone and comments that she and Mycroft often talked.

'So you're a policeman' she asked as she inflated the cuff, 'That must be exciting. Long hours too?'

Greg nodded, wondering how much else she knew. But she seemed to know when to drop a subject and she sighed as she looked at the gauge reading.

'Still lower than I'd like,' she frowned and shook her head, 'And if you think that by going to Dr Thomas after last week's little adventure that I wouldn't find out then you're not as smart as you look.'

Mycroft narrowed his eyes but said nothing. Greg decided he liked this doctor, she reminded Greg of Anthea, and he woulnd't have been surprised to find that she had been handpicked by her.

'Alright, up we get and let's have a look shall we?'

Mycroft glanced at Greg and then at the floor and Greg suddenly felt like he was intruding. He backed off a step.

'I can wait outside....'

'No!' Mycroft made an aborted reach for him and then took a breath, 'It's just...nothing. It's fine.'

Greg watched Mycroft maneuver himself onto the bed and noted the slight hesitation and then the way Mycroft turned away slightly before he untucked and pulled up his shirt.

He's embarrassed, Greg realised suddenly, and he'd have reassured Mycroft if he hadn't been so transfixed by the sight of his stomach. That stomach he'd been obsessing over for weeks. It was the first time he'd seen it bare and exposed, and he swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. This was  _not_ the time to get an erection.

'So,' the doctor said as she prepared the machine and located a blue gel that she squirted into Mycroft with no warning, 'Have you thought anymore about names?'

'...I...'

'Still thinking something French?' she asked, her attention focused on the screen. Before either Greg or Mycroft could speak, she smiled, 'And...there we go.'

Greg stared.

It was a baby.

It was....perfect. Like looking at a real child. Of course it was a real child, he corrected himself, but it was still  _inside_ and...

'3D scanning,' the doctor said, catching his look of surprise, 'You were expecting a blobby grey blur?'

Greg had to swallow several times before he could speak, 'Something like that.'

If he had managed to drag his eyes away from the screen for one second he would have seen the way that Mycroft was looking at him, but he was transfixed by the image.

It was....a whole person. Tiny, but with every detail so....he'd never thought that babies had features, but looking at it...her... He could suddenly see perfect fingernails, fingers curled into fists, small upturned nose and a wide, thin mouth that was so like Mycroft's...

#

Mycroft watched the changes on Gregory's face, felt the warmth of the policeman's hand as he took his, and marveled at the open awe in his expression.

And he wished, as he had done since the day he'd walked out, that he could have kept him.


	33. Chapter 33

John Watson was washing the dishes when he heard the door slam. A second later long arms wrapped around his waist and a cold nose buries into his neck. He smiled, but didn't stop what he was doing.

'Miss me then?'

'It was intolerable.'

Sherlock breathed deeply for a few seconds.

'You should give up the surgery.'

'Nice idea, but I'd quite like to carry on sleeping indoors.'

'We don't need the money.'

'Sherlock...'

But Sherlock's grip on him only tightened, the only indicator that Sherlock had a bad day. But John knew better than to ask about it or to draw attention to it. Instead he let Sherlock rest against him as he rinsed the subs off the glasses. He wanted to ask about the case, to find out why it was so bad that it had impacted so much on Sherlock, but he knew from experience that asking Sherlock would only make the other man close up even more. Instead he'd have to ask Greg later and fill in the blanks himself.

So he took his time, letting Sherlock relax against him, and when he finally felt Sherlock's breathing return to something approaching normal he sighed.

'There are two fingers in the back of the freezer from Molly's-'

He rocked slightly from the sudden loss of Sherlock's weight, and then laughed silently and fished into the soapy water for another glass to rinse.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our boys take two little steps forward.

Greg had looked confused when the doctor handed him a disk at the end of the appointment.

'Video of the baby,' she explained with a smile. Greg had clutched it all the way back to Mycroft's, staring out the window with a distant look on his face and a faint smile. 

Mycroft took the opportunity to watch him, something he didn't get a chance to do much these days, not with Greg hovering around so attentive and helpful. In some ways it had been easier before, when Mycroft watched him from afar. It also gave him the chance to think about what had just happened. Greg had looked so...happy. For a fleeting second Mycroft allowed himself to think about what it might have been like if there had been no contract, no deception. If it had just happened. Would Greg have been smiling like that still? Mycroft knew the answer, but it still hurt knowing that, if he hadn't been so stupid, so underhand, that he could have, perhaps, had that with Greg.

But he didn't, and there was no way to get it back now. Besides, even if Mycroft wanted to, Greg didn't. He'd been seeing other people since they broke up, Mycroft knew. He was moving on with his life, looking for someone who wasn't going to lie to him. This, Mycroft thought, was just what Greg said it was, one friend helping another.

Mycroft turned away towards the window.

 

#

 

Neither man spoke until they were back in Mycroft's kitchen, and even then it wasn't until Greg was shaking off his coat that the silence was broken. 

'So,' Greg hardly dated to look at Mycroft, and fought to keep his voice calm, 'Something French?'

Mycroft coloured and looked down.

'I thought it might be fitting, given you're own heritage. If that's not overstepping?'

Greg was smiling, 'It...it would be nice. Have you thought of any yet?'

Watching Mycroft shift was adorable, it wasn't often the redhead was shy, and Greg loved watching him.

'....Eloise,' he said quietly, but didn't look at Greg, which was just as well because Greg suddenly felt like he was going to cry and he didn't really know why.

'Eloise,' Greg repeated, liking the way it sounded, 'Eloise Holmes.'

'Lestrade.'

'What?'

'I thought...Eloise Lestrade-' Mycroft didn't get any further because Greg suddenly had Mycroft's face in his hands and was kissing him harder than he ever had before.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for nothing.

They hadn't talked about it. It was just a few seconds before Greg let go and pulled away awkwardly, leaving Mycroft reeling slightly in the middle of the kitchen. Greg didn't know what had come over him, it had just... _happened._ So he turned his attention to the kettle, and pretended that it hadn't.

#

Late that night, when he thought Greg was asleep, Mycroft crept down to the kitchen and opened the huge freezer. He was startled by a sound behind him and turned around to find Greg there, gun in hand.

'I thought someone was breaking in.'

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, 'To  _this_ house?'

Greg grinned at him, 'True. You could have turned a light on though. Scared the crap out of me creeping around like that.'

'Apologies.'

'What are you...is that a pillow?'

Mycroft said nothing, but tilted his chin and tried to look haughty., which was difficult with thick blue pillow clutched in his hands.

'Mycroft, why do you have a pillow in the freezer?'

'I was...too warm. It was difficult to sleep.'

Greg wanted to laugh, but there was a warning look on Mycroft's face that he knew well. Instead he just shook his head indulgently and watched as Mycroft stalked past him with as much dignity as he could muster. He didn't laugh until he heard Mycroft's bedroom door close.

#

'Gregory?'

Greg lifted his head when his bedroom door opened.

'Everything alright?'

He could just about see Mycroft in the dark. The other man was hovering in the doorway, his body language uncertain.

'My...my pillow defrosted. And now my bed is wet.'

This time Greg couldn't keep the laugh in. But he was already moving over to make space for Mycroft.

'I thought you were supposed to be the smart one,' he laughed as he settled down on his side, his back to Mycroft.

Mycroft said nothing as he settled himself, but just as Greg was drifting off again he swore he heard Mycroft mutter something about 'Fucking pillows.'

#

Mycroft woke up in the early hours of the morning, a warmth around him that he recognised, but which took a moment to pinpoint. Since Greg had come to stay, on those occasions when he and Mycroft slept in the same bed, Greg had taken great pains to keep a distance between them, sleeping on the farthest edge of the bed. But here was wapped around Mycroft, his body tucked in against the politician, nose pressed into the bare skin on the back of Mycroft's neck, and one strong arm wrapped around him, hand splayed protectively across Mycroft's stomach.

It was the first time he had touched Mycroft like that since they broke up, and Mycroft, even in his half asleep state, suspected that the events of the day were still very much at the front of Greg's mind.

There was a slight shift behind him and then Greg's voice, sleep rough in his ear.

'Go back to sleep,' the policeman rumbled against Mycroft's skin, and then the soft press of lips against his neck.

Mycroft held his breath for a second, waiting to see what happened, but when it wasn't repeated, but Greg didn't move, he spoke.

'Gregory?'

There was no answer behind him, and Mycroft turned his head, expecting to see that the other man had fallen back asleep, but Greg was looking at him in the dark. Mycroft met his gaze for a long time, and then moved his head, just a fraction towards Greg but that was all that was needed.

This kiss was as far away from the bruising one they had shared earlier. It was slow and soft and seemed to last for hours until Mycroft closed his eyes and sighed. Greg pressed his forehead against Mycroft's.

'Go back to sleep,' he repeated softly.

#

The next time Mycroft woke he was alone in bed, warm and wrapped up in the cent of Greg. Greg's side of the bed was warm, so he must have on just got up. Mycroft could hear him moving about in the kitchen, but he allowed himself a few minutes of indulgence before he too left the warmth of the sheets and made his way downstairs.

Greg was gathering the various things he would need for work, and he didn't look up as Mycroft came in.

'Good morning,' Mycroft said, watching him with a soft smile.

Greg paused what he was doing for a second, and then straightened up taking a deep breath before he spoke, still with his back to Mycroft.

'I think I should stay in my own flat again,' he said eventually.

That took the smile from Mycroft's face and replaced it with a flutter of confusion in his chest.

'Pardon?'

'You're a lot better now, and this was only supposed to be until you were back on your feet and-'

'Gregory?'

'And honestly I just can't stay here.' He finally turned and looked at Mycroft, who took in his tired eyes and his unshaven face, 'Last night....we can't let that happen. It's confusing and it's not fair to either of us. So...I think it would be better if I stayed at my own place.'

'But-'

'I'll still be there any time you need me,' Greg cut him off, trying hard to be reassuring but misunderstanding the look on Mycroft's face, 'But I just think we..' he broke off with a shrug and a nod, 'I have to go to work.'

And then he was gone.


	36. Chapter 36

A few days after Greg moved back into his own flat, Sherlock came home from a case to find John sitting in the flat alone. He paused in the doorway, still in the act of unwrapping his scarf, and stared at John, who was sitting in his chair, book in hand, but clearly not reading a single word on the page. He smiled up at Sherlock, but it was a tired smile that didn't fool the detective for one second.

'You met with Mary,' Sherlock#s voice was flat.

John shrugged, not even trying to pretend otherwise.

'She turned up at the surgery.'

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as they roamed over John's face and body.

'She threatened you?'

'Not exactly,' John gave a bark of a laugh, 'She wants to try again.'

Only a few times had John ever seen Sherlock still the way he did at those words, his face suddenly blank of emotion. It was unnerving, and John wondered if he was the only person in the world who knew what it meant. It was Sherlock's fight or flight stance. In split second he could leap into the fray, or he could bolt off. Right now, John knew, were the few seconds in which he could influence the outcome.

'I told her no, Sherlock,' John said, watching Sherlock carefully, 'Obviously.'

The tiniest tilt of Sherlock's head was enough to encourage John to go on.

'Never, Sherlock. Never.' John got to his feet and threw his book down on his chair, 'She is a psychopath who lied to me from the start.'

Those black eyebrows rose slightly.

'You're different,' John said, 'You're always different.' He sighed, 'I don't know what she's playing at this time, but I'm not falling for it.'

This time Sherlock's face showed what he thought of that.

'She was all full of these...plans,' John's hands were on his hips, 'Kept trying to...tempt me or something. It's not going to happen, okay? I meant what I said before, I'm not going anywhere.'

He held Sherlock's gaze and let the taller man deduce what John wasn't saying, a small part of him knowing that Sherlock needed to come to his own conclussions. And when he did John saw the exact change of stance and a split second later Sherlock was out the door and halfway down the stairs.

 

#

 

Sherlock strode through the dark, coat billowing, hands clenched. Other pedestrians moved out of his way, some with genuine fear on their faces.

He felt...he didn't know how he felt. Angry, uncertain...frightened. And only John ever made him feel like that. Only John ever made him feel  _anything_.

And now Mary, clever, clever Mary who loved John and who didn't like to lose, was tempting John by offering him the one thing that she knew Sherlock wouldn't.

Children.

The longing on John#'s face had been clear, and while it had hurt Sherlock in a way he hadn't expected, he respected John for not trying to hide it.

But creeping back into his thoughts was the constant question of what would happen when John got bored of him. What would happen if John changed his mind about Sherlock. What if, once again, just Sherlock was no longer just enough for him.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of the end folks.
> 
> This piece has recently been taking part in the most EPIC game of tag with [http://archiveofourown.org/users/story_weaver_81/pseuds/story_weaver_81](story_weaver_81) who has been trading chapters of work on their rather excellent And We All Fall Down story for chapters on this - it's been great motivation and great fun.

Mycroft read the information about Mary Watson's visit to the surgery and went straight t check the CCTV of Baker Street. He was concerned with what he saw there. Sherlock#'s body language as he fled the flat was far too familiar for Mycroft's liking. 

He looked at the work piling up on his desk and sighed. Then he picked up the phone.

'Gregory, I apologise for calling so late-'

'Everything alright?' there was concern in his voice that touched Mycroft, but he wasn't able to dwell on that in the moment.

'I was just wondering-' a woman's laugh in the background. The scrape of cutlery. Low music somewhere. Oh. A date.

Mycroft's heart sank and for a second he forgot what he was going to ask Greg.

'Nevermind,' he said instead, drawing on all of his training, 'It's nothing I can't take care of.'

'Mycroft-?'

'My apologises for interrupting. Please enjoy your evning,' and Mycroft hung up before anything else could be said.

He cast one last look at his desk and then picked up his phone again, this time to call for a car.

 

#

 

Mycroft arrived at Baker Street to find an argument in full swing, which in itself was nothing unusual. However it was not his brother that Dr Watson was arguing with.

'Don't you ever knock?' Mary snapped as Mycroft entered.

'I'm not usually inclined to, Miss Morstan.'

'Watson,' she replied sharply.

'Not for much longer,' Mycroft responded calmly.

It was only then that John spoke, and Mycroft knew it wasn't his imagination that John looked relieved by the politician's prescence.

'What do you want, Mycroft?'

Mycroft blinked, taking his time to answer, knowing how much it annoyed everyone present, 'Just checking up on my little brother. It appears my timing has been most unfortunate.'

'Mary is just leaving,' John snarled, steering the woman towards the door.

'Quite so. It would also be most prudent if Miss Morstan refrained from returning to my brother's home in future, I do not believe his response would be...favourable.'

Mary opened her mouth to respond, and then seemed to decide that Mycroft wasn't worth her time, instead her features softened as she looked at John, putting on a very convincing display of innocence, 'Just think about what I said.'

John shook his head, 'No thanks.'

Deciding that leaving was the best course of action, particularly with the alarming calmness with which Mycroft was watching her, Mary finally retreated. John sighed, finally relaxing.

'I didn't ask her-'

'I'm aware,' Mycroft curled his lip in disgust, 'However you should discourage her from returning. Sherlock will not be pleased, especially given his apparent emotional state already this evening. If I were you I would open the windows. Miss Morstan's perfume is rather cloying.'

John pressed his lips together, clearly already worried about what would happen when Sherlock returned.

'Any idea where he is?'

Mycroft checked the alert on his phone, 'Currently crossing Westminster Bridge, so you can expect him soon.'

John nodded, 'I suppose I should put the kettle on.'

'And I shall take my leave.'

'You don't want to see Sherlock?'

'I think under the circumstances it would be best if I am not here when he arrives.'

John couldn't argue with that, so Mycroft let himself out.

He had his phone out before he reached the street, calling for the return of his car which was why he didn't notice the change in the darkness behind him immediately.

'Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you.'

'Because you are currently being watched and recorded by no less than four government agencies, including two you have never heard of. Also, it would ruin my dinner plans.' Mycroft didn't let his step falter as Mary spoke, and it wasn't until there was a tug on his arm and a sharp, familiar press against his side that suddenly changed the whole situation.

'Do you always go everywhere armed?'

'Watson trait,' she sneered.

'You, however, are not a Watson.'

'And who's fault is that?' Mary hissed, tucking up close against him, forcing him to walk faster, 'I'd put my whole past behind me. I had a new life. But you sold me out to Magnussen the first chance you got. You made sure Sherlock put the pieces together, let him tell John. And then you _helped_ them after everything I did for you.'

'A few low grade wet jobs. Hardly skilled labour.'

'You destroyed my whole life.'

'I assure you I did not. I believe you shooting my brother and faking a pregnancy could be considered something of a final straw in your marriage to Dr Watson.'

Mary jabbed her gun hard against the side of his stomach as she leaned in close to him, smiling at a dog walker, making it look for all the world like they were just another couple out for a stroll. Whatever else Mycroft could say about her, she was very, very good.

Where was his driver?

That now familiar panic welled up in his chest and Mycroft struggled to breathe as they walked, far too fast.

'You took everything,' Mary's voice was low in his ear, 'Perhaps I should return the favour.'

Another jab into his stomach that made Mycroft wince in pain, and Mary's threat very clear. He looked down at her, saw the glint in her eye of a true psychopath and he realised his mistake in letting her live. He tried to pull away, his mind too full of panic to think properly. Another thrust, a hand swinging and a shot.

Then everything happened at once.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone can tell me why the wrap around is going nuts in formatting suddenly and how I can stop word breaking mid way through at the end of lines that would be awesome, because it's been happening the last few updates and it's really starting to annoy me.

Greg slunk home before dawn, slightly hungover and feeling a little disappointed in himself. He hadn't made a habit of one night stands in many years. Although the date had been nice, and the sex had been fine, he had no desire to see her again and had felt guilty as he's crept out as soon as he'd woken up. He rubbed his face as he walked. He was too old for this.

He didn't remember Mycroft's call until later that morning, which only made him feel worse.

He wasn't surprised when he call to Mycroft went to voicemail. Mycroft was rarely able to answer during the day, so he left a message and went to make more coffee. A triple murder occupied every waking minute of the next few days and only ended with a showdown in Bayswater which resulted in two officers getting injured.

It wasn't until he was leaving his office after almost fifty hours with no sleep that he realised he still hadn't heard from Mycroft. Greg was annoyed. He knew that it was what he had asked for, but he hadn't expected Mycroft to blank him completely.

Pulling out of his parking space he thought for a moment and then turned towards Mycroft's house.

#

Despite still being light outside, all the curtains in Mycroft's house were drawn, but Greg could see lights on through the glass fan light above the front door.

After several minutes there was still no answer, and Greg was almost about to turn away, but something didn't feel right about the situation, especially after Mycroft's behaviour over the last few days. He knocked once more and then made a decision, locating the key he hadn't gotten around to giving back, Greg let himself in.

All the lights were on, including the lamps, but the house was in complete silence. There wasn't any sign of the cats either.

His first instinct was to call out for Mycroft, but the policeman in him was wary of announcing his presence like that when he had no idea of the situation.

Moving through to the kitchen he wished he had his gun on him, especially when he saw the mess there. Unwashed cups were stacked beside the sink, where a saucepan was soaking in grey water. In the corner by the door the cat's had scattered their litter and no one had cleaned it up. It was not at all like the usual pristine house that Mycroft kept.

At the soft click behind him Greg stopped moving and then slowly raised his hands.

There was a pause and then, 'Gregory?'

Greg let out a breath he hadn't even realised he was holding.

'Jesus Myc, you scared the shit - Christ!' Greg took in Mycroft's appearance, 'What the hell happened?'

Mycroft was paler than Greg had ever seen him, the only colour he sported were the deep shadows under his bloodshot eyes and the yellowing bruises down the side of this face. He was dressed in one of Greg's old teeshirts that clearly hadn't been washed in a while and was stretched over his stomach. One of his ankles was bandaged and Mycroft couldn't hide the way his hands were shaking as he lowered his gun.

'There was a minor incident, nothing for you to worry about.'

'Minor?' Greg had known Mycroft long enough to know what that word meant, 'Look at you!' he reached out but Mycroft backed off and so Greg froze like someone dealing with a frightened animal, 'You're not supposed to be working.'

'I wasn't. I was visiting Baker Street.'

Sudden fury rose in Greg, 'Was this Sherlock? I'll fucking kill him.'

Mycroft set his gun on the island in the centre of the kitchen. The island he was keeping between himself and Greg now, 'It wasn't my brother. There was an altercation with Miss Morstan.'

'Mary?'

Mycroft didn't answer, instead he self consciously smoothed the front of the teeshirt and glanced around the none too clean kitchen, clearly embarrassed to have anyone see it like that.

'Mycroft, what happened?'

'Threats were made, shots were fired. She missed. I didn't.'

'You..killed her?'

Mycroft turned back, eyes flinty and cold, 'Not yet.'

Greg rubbed his hands over his face, more to give himself a few seconds to think than anything else.

'So...if she  _missed,_ ' Greg waved his hands at Mycroft, 'What happened to cause this?'

'I underestimated both the height of the kerb and my own centre of gravity.'

'You fell?' Greg took another step in alarm, and Mycroft edged further away from him once more, which was a far cry from the last time they were in this room together, 'Is-?'

'She's fine,' Mycroft's hand was resting protectively on his stomach as it had been since he came in, 'My face took most of the impact.'

Greg was rendered speechless for a long time as he took in the injuries that were obviously days old, and the wary look on Mycroft's face was starting to border on fear.

'You should have asked me to go if you thought there was a problem. I#'d have gone.'

'You were busy.'

'I wasn't-' Greg took in the way Mycroft refused to meet his eyes while still maintaining that lift of his chin that was so out of keeping with the rest of his body language, and he suddenly felt like a real bastard, 'Oh. When you...called.'

'When you were occupied. As I am too, currently. Albeit not in similar activities, so if you would be so good as to see yourself out....'

'Mycroft-'

'Good evening, Detective Inspector.'

And that was when Greg snapped.

'Don't you dare!' he pointed at Mycroft, his voice rising, and he didn't fail to notice the way Mycroft flinched away from him, but right at that moment he just didn't care, 'Don't you push me out like that again.'

'You were the one who requested that we keep our distance and not cross lines.'

'This wasn't what I meant.'

'Nevertheless, this is how it is. We both have own lives and priorities, and this is mine.'

'It's mine too. She's my baby as well, and her life was in danger then-'

Mycroft held up his hand, 'I can assure you that I have, and will continue to, ensure her safety. So there is no need for you to be concerned.'

'I'm her father.' Greg yelled, his frustration at this return to the old Iceman routine rising.

Mycroft's face lost that hard edge for a small second before it returned full force, 'No.'

'Yes I am. You don't get to take this away from me again. You're not taking her away. She's my child too.'

'Ejaculating into a cup does not make you a father.'

In the silence that followed the only thing that Greg could hear was the blood roaring in his ears. He stared at Mycroft, unable to believe that Mycroft could say that to him after everything they had gone through to get to this point.

'Is that all you think of me?' he asked quietly, a dangerous edge to his voice, 'A...sperm donor?'

Mycroft gave him a pitying look, 'That's all you  _are,_ Detective Inspector. It would be wise for both of us to keep that in mind.'

'If you think-'

'You signed a contract.'

'Fuck the contract!' Greg roared.

Mycroft looked disappointed, 'Had I known you would behave like this I would never have embarked on this with you.'

'Well it's not too late to get rid of her.'

Greg had a split second to reach Mycroft and he had never moved so fast in his life, catching Mycroft under the arms as the politicians knees buckled.

#

'I'm sorry. Jesus. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry,' Greg's voice was barely audible and Mycroft struggled to hear the words, but the heartbreak in the other man's voice as he held Mycroft close was clear, 'I didn't mean it. Please, Myc,' Greg's voice cracked, 'Christ, that is the worst thing I have ever said.'

There was a sudden absence of the weight of Greg's head on his shoulder, but then a warm hand was on his cheek, turning Mycroft's face towards him, and then he was looking into those brown eyes which were creased with pain and worry. And it was only then that he realised Greg was shaking.

'I didn't mean it, Myc,' he said softly, staring into Mycroft's eyes as if willing him to believe.

'I'm sorry,' the detective repeated again, and he pressed his forehead against Mycroft's, his hand still on Mycroft's cheek, 'I didn't mean it,' he repeated over and over as he choked back a sob.

Mycroft closed his eyes, focusing on trying to breathe, letting Greg's scent wash over him, that scent he'd been trying to convince himself he hadn't needed, hadn't desperately, painfully craved for the last few days.

He had no idea how long they stood there. Time passed in a rush of whispered words from Greg that blurred into an indistinguishable murmur of breath against his skin, and not once did Greg let go of him. Not until he shifted slightly and Mycroft winced and pulled back.

'Mycroft?' Greg leaned in, his voice hoarse.

Mycroft blinked several times, trying to focus.

'It's...'

Greg took in his expression, 'Myc,' he repeated.

When Mycroft just kept looking at him, he finally glanced down to where Mycroft's hand rested. Greg's jaw tightened slightly, but did nothing to quell the concern in his expression. He ignored Mycroft's pleading whine and slowly moved Mycroft's hand away, pulling up the shirt to expose the still purple marks on Mycroft's stomach. He'd seen marks like that often enough in his career to know what caused them - the barrel of a gun thrust hard against the skin. He'd seen it in street fights where things got out of hand, and he'd seen it in torture situations where it was a threat, and he'd seen it as a last act of violence. He had never expected to see them across Mycroft's swollen stomach  and he snapped his head back up to look at Mycroft, who suddenly couldn't bear Greg's gaze any longer, the tears welling up in his eyes.

'She threatened my baby,' Mycroft whispered.

Greg's hand tentatively brushed over te bruises until it covered them, warm and comforting against Mycroft's skin. The hand on Mycroft's cheek slid around to cup the back of Mycroft's neck, pulling him forward until Mycroft's forehead was resting against Greg's shoulder, and he kissed the bruised on Mycroft's temple.

'Our baby.'


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock's POV following the incident with Mary

'Sherlock? SHERLOCK!' John didn't even realise he was running until he crashed into the taller man who was looking around the pop up crime scene outside their flat.

'John?'

John buried his face into Sherlock's chest, breathing in the scent of wool and bergamot, cinnamon and....cigarettes.

'You were smoking,' he said, his words muffled against Sherlock's chest.

'Lesser of two evils,' Sherlock prised John away from him, and, holding the smaller man by the shoulders, looked down at him, 'Are you okay?'

'Me?' John's eyes were wide, 'Of course I'm okay. I thought...there were shots outside and I thought it was you.'

Sherlock frowned, 'Why would you think that?'

John didn't even reply, he just rolled his eyes, 'Well as you can see I'm fine. Mycroft-'

'Anthea took him away a couple of minutes ago. Mary.....'

Sherlock pulled back then and looked down at John, not entirely sure what was going to be said next.

'Mary shot at him,' John finished quietly, and then, much to his surprise, Sherlock snorted, 'It's not funny Sherlock.'

'I think anyone trying to take a shot at Mycroft is funny. And tragic.'

John stared up at him for a long time, suddenly reassessing Sherlock's relationship with his brother, and that respect that they both kept so well hidden. And without meaning to, he felt his face break out into a smile.

'I love you.'

Sherlock blinked and looked down at him.

'Are you sure?'

John laughed and nodded, already reaching for the pale hand, 'Yeah.'

'But...' Sherlock glanced across to where an unconscious Mary Morstan was being loaded into an ambulance, accompanied by two of Mycroft's minions.

'I don't care about her, Sherlock.'

Sherlock turned back, looking down at John. His John. Who smiled, that quirky half smile he only ever gave to Sherlock.

'I care about  _you._ When I knew you were on your way home and then I heard the shot...'

'Why would you assume that was me?'

'Because it's always you!' John shouted, and then his face softened and he reached out to lace his fingers through Sherlocks, 'It's always you.'


	40. Chapter 40

It was late, the street outside was dark and the sounds of passers by long since silenced. Greg was still holding Mycroft, one hand steadying him while the other stroked over every inch of skin it could find as he kissed the politician's forehead and neck. But nothing more.

'I want to,' he admitted when Mycroft whined in protest, but he still held back, 'I just can't. I need to know, for certain, that this is what you want. That...that it's not just hormones or stress or-'

'It's not!'

Greg closed his eyes as he pressed his lips against Mycroft's forehead, 'It's easy to say, Myc. But...' he sighed, 'I can't let you break my heart again.'

Mycroft pulled back and looked up at the policeman, waiting for him to go on.

'You're not an idiot, Myc,' Greg said slowly, his voice cracking as he spoke, 'You know I was in love with you.'

The look on Mycroft's face was enough to break Greg's heart before the other man even spoke, so Greg cut him off, unsure if he'd be able to speak if he didn't get it all out now.

'You didn't need to lie to me. You didn't need to pretend.' Greg ran a hand through his hair, careful not to let go of Mycroft with the other one, 'Did it ever occur to you I might have been happy?'

Mycroft blinked up at him, suddenly looking so much younger, fear and confusion clear in his expression.

'Happy?'

Greg nodded, 'Maybe not with the method you picked, but...yeah,' he bit his lip, 'I'm happy now, aren't I?' he covered Mycroft's hand with his own, 'Look, it's...been complicated. And I've tried, I've really fucking tried to just be your friend. And I don't know what's happening right now, but I do know that I need for you to be sure about it.' He kissed Mycroft's forehead again, 'So think about it, about what you really want, what you need. And...and then we'll talk about it. Okay?'

Mycroft looked like he wanted to respond, but then he nodded and leaned against Greg again, breathing in the other man's scent and allowing it to calm him into sleep. Greg kissed Mycroft again, stroking his hand along Mycroft's back and then over his stomach, murmuring nonsense into his hair. When he was finally sure Mycroft was asleep, he pressed one last, gentle kiss to the bruises on Mycroft's temple and then reached for his phone.

'I don't care how you do it, but I want her dead.'

 

#

 

In a warehouse in Battersea Anthea Templeton slipped her phone back into her pocket and retrieved a pair of rubber gloves before she advanced on her captive with a smile.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short little chapter today.

Mycroft was deep in sleep when Greg finally moved. He pressed a kiss to the other man's temple and pulled the blanket further over his shoulders. Their conversation had taken it's toll on both of them, and it hadn't been long before sleep weighed Mycroft down and Greg had just lain with him, letting the politician get the rest he clearly needed. He took in the stress lines on Mycroft's face and he wondered when was the last time the man had a proper sleep. He knew, fuck did he ever know, that Mycroft was rubbish when it came to looking after himself, and he was always too fucking proud to ask for help. But Greg should have known. He knew that Mycroft needed him, but he'd been so caught up in trying to keep things clear between them that he hadn't given a thought to what would happen when he wasn't around.

He didn't go far, he took his laptop into the kitchen and made a coffee, trying to work through the complexities of what he was feeling, what Mycroft might be feeling, what could happen and...well, what he wanted to happen.

A quick glance through Mycroft's fridge and he was making a list of things they needed. He was just finishing the Tesco order when he heard rapid footsteps coming far too fast down the stairs, and he turned just in time to see Mycroft come through the kitchen door. When he laid eyes on Greg he shot forward and pressed against him, and Greg automatically wrapped his arms around him.

'I thought you'd left.'

Greg shook his head, 'No. I just couldn't sleep.' 

He was about to offer Mycroft some tea when the politician spoke again.

'I wanted to keep you.'

Greg pulled back to look at Mycroft, who was still slightly wide eyed and not quite meeting his gaze.

'You said once that I didn't have to pretend, when...'

'It's okay,' Greg soothed, not wanting Mycroft to get more upset, not when he was still so fragile from their previous talk, 'We can talk about-'

'I wasn't pretending,' Mycroft cut him off, the words obviously hard for him to say, 'We were friends, and when I...decided what I wanted I thought you were the right person. I...I didn't expect to develop the feelings I did. And when I realised it was already too late, I was already...and I couldn't lie to you, but I knew that when you found out the truth about what I'd...how I'd used you, that it would all be over because you'd never forgive me. So I stayed for as long as I could, but it was going to be obvious soon and you'd know and I didn't want, couldn't face that so I...ended it.'

Greg bit his lip at those words, that old pain over what had happened threatening to resurface, but one look at Mycroft's face and it faded again.

'But I did forgive you, didn't I?' Greg sighed as Mycroft lowered his head, 'I thought...I was so angry at you then.'

'And now?'

'Oh, I'm angry at you for whole different reasons right now.'

Mycroft gave a laughed that choked off with a sob and Greg took a second to allow Mycroft to compose himself, and then he tilted Mycroft's face up so he was forced to look at him.

'Is this-'

'I love you.'

Greg froze, feeling as shocked as Mycroft looked, and there was a moment where neither of them moved, and then all of a sudden the words started to tumble out of Mycroft's mouth.

'I've never said that to anyone before.'

'No one?'

Mycroft shook his head, looking half wild at the revelation, 'Never. Not even to my mother. But I've loved you for a long time, for years I think. I just didn't know what it was. I didn't have the right words and-'

'Is this what you want?' Greg stared intently at Mycroft, who, to his credit thought before he spoke.

A small nod, 'Yes.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes,' stronger this time, but with an edge of wariness at Greg's expression, as if waiting for the rejection, and Greg wondered how many times Mycroft had been rejected in his life to make him so afraid of caring for someone else.

Without even thinking about it, Greg leaned forward and kissed Mycroft, very softly.

'Okay,' he whispered.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in this. In sad news there is only one more chapter of this to go. Enjoy. And I hope it's lived up to expectations.

The next few days passed in a strange haze of hormones and whispered words and light touches. Greg called into work and explained, only to find out that he'd been granted special leave for the next few weeks.

'Again? But sir, I just had-'

'Orders from above, Lestrade,' the Chief Superintendent informed him before hanging up.

Greg walked through to the living room where Mycroft was reading the paper.

'So who owes you a favour?'

'Hmm?'

'I've got three weeks special leave. Orders from above apparently.'

'Oh.'

'Oh? So,' Greg sat down beside Mycroft and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, 'You wouldn't possibly have anything to do with that?'

'Of course not. Although...'

'Yes?' Greg was fighting a smile now.

'I do believe the Deputy Commissioner is rather enamoured by Anthea.'

Greg sighed theatrically, 'We all are.'

At this Mycroft turned to him and narrowed his eyes, 'You most certainly better not be.'

Greg's only response was to kiss him again.

#

Mycroft was well aware of what Greg was doing when it came to his diet. Well, diet might not be the right word anymore, since any attempt to control his weight was well and truly out the window. At first Mycroft had complained bitterly about the amount of sugar and fat in the meals Greg served. But that only caused Greg to smile and ask if he'd like ice cream afterwards. Even Mycroft had to admit it was a lost cause.

'I'm going to be huge,' he complained.

But Greg had just run his hands down Mycroft's still too slim hips and kissed the back of his neck, 'Good.'

And it certainly seemed that Greg liked the changes that were occurring if the endless and careful attention he paid to Mycroft's body was anything to go by. It was like those first heady days of their previous relationship over two years before. But without the actual sex.

Oh, there had been kissing, and almost constant caressing, and one staggering incident when Greg had surprised Mycroft with a truly spectacular early morning blow job. But neither seemed in a rush to instigate sex, both for different reasons. Mycroft was, as much as he hated to admit it, embarrassed about his body and how it looked now, although Greg's constant reassurances and attention were helping to change how he saw himself. On the other hand Greg seemed wary about taking things too far and still treated Mycroft like he was something delicate. Mycroft had never been treated like that before and it was a slightly unnerving experience, but at the same time it was exactly what he needed as he slowly came back to himself.

On the following Thursday after the incident with Mary, Mycroft was surprised to see a fully dressed Greg waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. Over the past few days neither of them had progressed much beyond, or rather, Greg had appropriated a pair of Mycroft's pyjama bottoms and little else, while Mycroft had found Greg's boxer shorts and one of his old band teeshirts to be rather comforting. He'd smirked to himself every time he caught sight of himself in a mirror. What would his colleagues say if they could see the Iceman heavily pregnant and wearing stolen underwear?

'Gregory?' Mycroft paused at the bottom of the stairs.

'Appointment today, right?' Greg looked unsure as he took in Mycroft's expression, 'I thought...if you'd rather not...it's fine.'

Greg was trying so hard to keep the disappointment from his face that it made Mycroft's heart clench.

'I wasn't sure you would want to come,' he admitted.

'Of course I do!'

When they walked into the clinic an hour later, still hand in hand, the doctor raised an eyebrow but said nothing on the subject, although her smile was enough to show what she thought about it.

And so it went on for the next few weeks until Anthea called.

#

'Just stay indoors, away from the windows and make sure you are armed.'

'What happened?' Greg demanded, trying to keep his voice down so as not to attract the attention of Mycroft who was upstairs changing for bed.

'I may have made a slight miscalculation.'

'About what?'

'How many times Mary Morstan could be made to watch Dr Watson and Mr Holmes brother engage in...activities.'

There was silence and Greg didn't know whether to laugh or shout.

'You did what?' he hissed eventually.

'She's been watching recordings from the flat in Baker Street on a loop for the last three weeks,' Anthea admitted.

'How...how did you even get those?'

A small cough, 'I wouldn't like to say.'

'You have a sick mind, Anthea.'

'Thank you.'

'That wasn't a...never mind. So what's the problem?'

'I may have underestimated the original level of Morstan's psychopathic leanings.'

'Oh fuck.'

'She's being tracked and I'm on my way to apprehend her.'

'You'd better.'

'I will. And I'd appreciate if you could refrain from mentioning this to Mr Holmes.'

Greg could hear Mycroft humming to himself as he moved about upstairs.

'Fine. But when this is over me and you are having words.'

'Yes, sir,' Anthea's voice was professional, but apologetic, 'Now, I have a train to catch.'

#

When Greg joined Mycroft upstairs, the politician was already settling himself in bed, book in hand. Greg smiled at him and was grateful for the loaded gun he knew Mycroft kept in his bedside drawer.

'Everything alright?' Mycroft looked concerned.

'Just Anthea.'

'Problems?' Mycroft looked poised to get out of bed, but Greg pulled him back.

'Just the usual. Look after him. Make sure he eats. Make him to go bed at a decent time,' Greg pulled a face which made Mycroft laugh.

'Mission accomplished.'

'Hmm,' Greg leaned over Mycroft and kissed a line down his neck, 'She said I had to take you to bed. But she didn't say you had to sleep when you got here.'

'I do believe I like the way your mind works, Detective Inspector.'

That was the last coherent thing Mycroft was capable of saying for quite some time.

#

The morning papers were full of the same story about an unnamed blond woman shot twice in the head at she exited the train onto a busy platform at Baker Street station.

No one saw anything.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with this one. But this chapter is more or less the end - well, maybe one more... :)

John took the news of Mary's death surprisingly well, although Sherlock was a different matter. The detective retreated into one of his dark, reflective moods and barely breathed a word to anyone for the following few days. On the day of the funeral he appeared in his best suit, surprising John, who was reading the paper at the kitchen table, still in his dressing gown.

'Have you a court date you didn't tell me about?' John frowned.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the doctor.

'The funeral is today.' His voice was flat as he spoke.

'Yes.'

'You should go. We should go.'

At this John let out a bitter bark of laughter, 'Right. Yeah, and why should I go to the funeral of the woman who lied to us all and tried to hurt everyone I care about?'

'Because she doesn't have anyone else.'

John could do nothing but stare at the other man, searching his expression for any sign of ulterior motive. But he was just met with the same cool, blue eyes. Eventually John sighed.

'Okay,' he said, getting to his feet.

#

Two weeks after Mary Morsten's funeral Greg Lestrade was standing in the middle of the supermarket with a list in his hand, cursing Sherlock Holmes for not answering his phone the one time Greg  _really_ needed him. In desperation he called John.

'Is Sherlock with you?'

'Yeah he's here....he says he's busy and to ask you what you what,' John sighed.

'Ask him what the fuck is samphire?'

There was a pause as John relayed the question, then, 'He says it's a succulent....halo...what was that again Sherlock? Oh, halophyte, apparently.'

'That's nice, but can you tell me what the hell it is?'

'He wants to know if it's for a case.'

'No. It's not for a bloody case. Mycroft wants it and I ever want to have sex with him again then I need to find him some of it.'

John didn't even try to stifle his laugh.

'Yeah, glad you think it's funny. Holmes men are bloody demanding. Just you wait until it's your turn to pander to his nibs and his cravings and you won't be laughing then!' Greg snapped before hanging up and calling Anthea instead.

#

Even though he likely never intended it, Greg's words stayed with John for the next few days and he couldn't seem to stop thinking about them. He would catch himself watching Sherlock as the detective worked and wonder exactly what the future would hold for them. He'd had a hard enough time convincing Sherlock that he actually wanted to be with him and wasn't going anywhere. The concept of children seemed surreal. But then, a year ago the thought of Mycroft and Greg being together, having a baby was something John would have scoffed at if someone had suggested it, even knowing how Greg felt about Mycroft at the time. Maybe it wasn't such a far stretch to think that he and Sherlock might have their own family one day.

But before that there was something else that had been playing on his mind for a long time. In truth since more or less he first met the man, but even more so after recent events. He'd been thinking and planning and trying to find the perfect moment to bring it up. But as he sat drinking his tea and watching Sherlock swirl a beaker over his bunsen burner, John realised that there was never going to be a perfect time to bring anything up with Sherlock. So he just said it.

'How would you feel about getting married?'

Sherlock paused just long enough to shoot John a scathing look before returning to his experiment.

'Well, that answers that question,' John said, more to himself than Sherlock.

And so John thought the matter was put to rest, until later that night when Sherlock looked up from his take away, chopsticks paused in mid air, and turned his most intense gaze on John.

'I am not going to be a substitute for Mary.'

John's heart contracted painfully and for a moment he couldn't speak. Eventually he cleared his throat, took a breath and told the truth.

'She was a substitute for you.'

He didn't flinch under Sherlock's scrutiny, nor did he try to hide anything or control his features or his emotions. He just laid it all bare and let Sherlock see. Eventually those strange, cat eyes blinked slowly, softening slightly as they did so.

'Your rice is getting cold,' Sherlock said.

John smiled.

#

Mycroft was sitting up in bed, propped up by multiple pillows, reading a sheaf of papers from the office and trying not to be distracted by Greg, who was laying beside him, idly drawing patterns on Mycroft's stomach with the tips of his fingers.

Setting the file to one side, Mycroft looked down at him.

'You're thinking very loudly.'

Greg huffed out a breath of laughter, but didn't stop his movements, the slow, swirling trace across skin that Mycroft was more self conscious about than he would ever admit to, especially now that he had gained so much weight under Greg's supervision and bribery techniques.

'I'm thinking about how very incredibly sexy you are right now.'

For the briefest of seconds Mycroft's self defense mechanism kicked in and he assumed it was sarcasm, because who could ever think that way about him. But then he caught Greg's eye and he felt himself flushing at the look of sheer adoration on the policeman's face.

'You don't believe me,' Greg said slowly, a smile teasing the very edge of his lips, 'You know the first time you kidnapped me?'

'I remember,' Mycroft said, because he remembered everything. And in particular he remembered being fascinated and intrigued by the cocky policeman who had flirted with him, refused his bribe and winked at him before sauntering out of the warehouse like he hadn't a care in the world.

'Yeah,' Greg pressed a kiss to the exposed skin on Mycroft's stomach before he spoke again, 'Well, I had never met anyone like you before. You were...amazing. Powerful. Surprisingly funny. Gorgeous. Sexy as hell too. If Anthea hadn't been there I might just have dropped to my knees and sucked you off there and then.'

'Gregory!' Mycroft chided, but Greg showed no remorse, he just shrugged and carried on trailing kisses as he spoke.

'I tell you this, it was bloody hard to walk casually out of there with an erection that could smash concrete,' he paused and sighed, but happily, 'And then I got to know you over the years, and I was  _obsessed_ with you for so long. And that night you kissed me, when we got into that huge argument about that bomb in Pimlico, remember?'

Mycroft did remember. Sherlock had tried to diffuse it himself and Gregory had been apoplectic with rage. He was so incensed that Mycroft was worried he was going to injure either himself or someone else and his initial thoughts had been that he was going to need some of his agents on the scene to control matters. But then he saw a flash of something else in Greg's eyes. Concern. And it had him with the force of a hammer blow, so hard he hadn't been able to breath for a second. Gregory was worried. He...cared. He cared so much that his fear was manifesting itself as anger. Mycroft remembers staring at him for a second, and then, without even thinking about it, leaning forward and kissing him.

'I was already so in love with you by then,' Greg said quietly, 'I never stopped being in love with you.'

'Gregory?'

Greg's expression had turned serious for a moment, almost sad, and that sent a spike of worry through Mycroft's chest.

'I was just thinking about what we're going to tell her.'

'About?' Mycroft asked, although he already knew.

'About how she came about. I mean, I know it wasn't exactly conventional...'

'We tell her the truth.'

'The truth? You don't think that might be a bit damaging?'

'I wasn't suggesting we tell her straight away. But what is the truth?'

Greg lifted his head and looked at Mycroft then.

'That she was wanted,' Greg said softly.

'Well then,' was Mycroft's only response.

 

 


	44. Five years later

Five years, four babies, two rings and a whole lot of sex later and Greg Lestrade still couldn't believe how his life had turned out. Mycroft had wanted to wait until after Eloise was born, but Greg was having none of it.

'I'm getting that ring on your finger before you change your mind,' Greg had laughed while Mycroft complained about how large he was and how uncomfortable. If they disappeared early from the dinner because Greg was very anxious to show Mycroft exactly how attractive he found his current shape, then no one mentioned it.

A few weeks later and Eloise was delivered as planned. What wasn't planned was was Mycroft falling pregnant again less than three months later, although Greg wasn't really surprised. He'd barely been able to keep his hands off Mycroft since they'd gotten back together. Neither of them had expected Amelia to make her entrance seven weeks early though, and as a result Mycroft's anxiety flared up with an intensity that scared Greg. But they stuck it out and Violet and Jean-Christophe followed with a speed that Greg was extremely smug about.

'No more,' Mycroft had declared over and over as he frowned at his reflection, and Greg tried to be sympathetic, but in truth he loved how Mycroft looked now. He liked the softness about him, and he liked the way he smelled when he was pregnant. It was turning out to be a kink he didn't want to look too closely at.

He'd surprised himself by mastering the art of diplomatic relations between small children.

'Gregory, help!' Mycroft asked when he wrestled with Eloise who was adamant that she was not going to wear her shoes.

'You run the country, Myc!'

'Yes, bit this is  _difficult.'_

Greg had taken pity on him then and he pulled out the best weapon in his arsenal.

'Alright, if everyone is in the car in the next five minutes then you can go and see Sherlock this afternoon.'

Mycroft shook his head as there was a scrabble for coats and shoes, 'Underhand, my dear.'

'He owes me for last week.'

'When he babysat?' Mycroft frowned, 'The children had a lovely time, by all accounts. Sherlock took them on a treasure hunt at the park.'

'Yes, be they were looking for a  _finger!'_

Now, a week later, and Mycroft and Greg had arrived at Baker Street alone. When they reached the flat it was to find Sherlock laying on the sofa, staring at the ceiling apparently lost in though. John greeted them with a nod.

'John, Sherlock,' Mycroft nodded a greeting. 

Only then did Sherlock indicate that he had heard, and he turned his head slightly in Mycroft's direction, stared at him for a moment, eyes narrowed slightly, and then he sighed.

'Be nice, Sherlock,' John warned, and then to Greg, 'Is everything alright? We weren't expecting you...'

'Well we just left the hospital so thought we'd stop in on the way home.'

'Hospital?' John looked concerned, 'Is everything-?'

'Fine,' Greg smiled.

'Good. Okay that's...'

'Oh for god sake John, Mycroft is pregnant!'

 Sherlock snapped, and then turned away to face the back of the sofa. Mycroft and Greg exchanged a look, which also meant that Greg didn't have to look at John. He knew his friend was happy for them, but each time they announced a pregnancy John struggled a little bit more to keep his own longing hidden, but even now the open jealousy on his face was impossible to hide.

'That's...great....congratulations,' he said, and although he smiled, it didn't reach his eyes, 'Five kids...'

Greg looked at Mycroft again before speaking, 'Six.'

This time John didn't even try, 'That's....that's....a drink! Scotch!'

'Best not, I'm pretty sure that's how we ended up with these two.'

'Gregory!' Mycroft chided, but there was a softness in his voice.

'Another time then,' John said, 'We should go out and celebrate.' He looked around, pressing his lips together, 'I'd offer you tea but we don't have any mugs at the moment.'

'What happened?'

'Who do you think happened?' John raised his eyebrows, 'I came home to find every cup we owned lined up on the table, half full of piss.'

'It was an experiential,' came a muffled voice from the depths of the sofa.

'You have more test tubes in that kitchen than Bart's has, you didn't need to use all our cups on whatever weird experiment you were doing with your pee.'

'I didn't say it was my pee.'

'You....i...Sherlock you can't bring other people's urine into a room that we  _eat_ in!'

When it was clear that Sherlock wasn't going to say anything else, John gave up. But Greg was already reaching for the door.

'We'd better go. We just wanted to tell you.'

Mycroft pulled a face, 'Time to break the news to Mummy. She's certain to want to try and  _hug._ '

John at least made an effort to laugh at Mycroft's expression, and he followed the other two men down the stairs to see them out.

'He been in that mood all day?' Greg asked when he was certain they were out of ear shot.

'Weeks. He's driving me mad. He either shouts or stares into space. Who knows what's going on in that mind of his?'

When they were safely in their own car, Greg let his shoulders sag, releasing some of the tension there.

'I feel like complete shit,' he said.

'You shouldn't.'

'I know. I mean, he's trying to be happy for us, but it's...Christ he really wants a family.'

Mycroft sighed as he watched the passing buildings, 'Yes. However Sherlock does not.'

A fact that Greg was all too aware of, having spent more than one evening trying to comfort John after a blazing row with Sherlock over the subject. Lately though it had become more and more of a focus for John, but Sherlock had made it clear that he didn't want anything to change. Anything.

He didn't have anything else to say about it, so he settled for watching Mycroft, who was lost deep in thought.

#

John couldn't stand the silence in the flat, couldn't stand to look at Sherlock's back any longer, and he was too exhausted to try and have a conversation. In fact there was no point, they'd had the conversation, over and over and over. And the fact of the matter is that Sherlock didn't want what John wanted. But he wanted Sherlock. He wanted Sherlock more than he could ever put into words. And honestly, that was enough.

He loved Sherlock, even if sometimes he didn't like him very much. But he couldn't sit in a room with a moody or sulking Sherlock while he still had that sadness in his chest for the things he wouldn't have.

'I'm going to bed,' he said, knowing he wouldn't get a response from the other man.

Hours later he was still laying awake when Sherlock slipped in behind him, and surprised John by wrapping his arms around the doctor, holding him tightly in place.

'John' he whispered, uncertain.

'Talking to me now are you?' John didn't mean it to come out so harshly, but he'd had enough of Sherlock over the last few weeks.

'I'm sorry for my behavior lately.'

That shut John up.

'I know I've been difficult to live with, I was working through a problem. And I'm sorry about the mugs I used for the tests. I will buy more.'

Which they both knew meant that John would buy them, but John appreciated the gesture. He sighed and made to turn around, but Sherlock held him in place, so he couldn't look at him.

'John,' Sherlock's voice was low, 'You want children?'

John was far too tired for that conversation, not after today. But there was no point in lying to Sherlock, he could always tell anyway.

'Yes.'

The silence lasted so long that John was starting to worry, and just as he tried to move again, Sherlock spoke once more.

'Good.'

John blinked, not certain he'd heard correctly. This was a new tactic for Sherlock. But before he could speak, Sherlock kissed his shoulder.

'Because I have some news of my own for you.'

 

 


End file.
